Graffiti on the Wall
by galeanthrope
Summary: "The first time he sees her, they literally run into each other." A story about how Steve finds his life again.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first fic! Please be gentle. :) I'd really love constructive criticism, though!

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The first time he sees her, they literally run into each other. It is a particularly bad night, and the nightmares are the ones about Bucky that mean he won't be able to get back to sleep. He's been searching, doing all he can, but they've run through all their leads and now all he can do is wait for something to turn up. So even though it's four in the morning (and thus a little early even for Steve, whose body doesn't need all that much rest anymore), he goes for his morning run.

It is because he is lost in thought that he doesn't hear her coming. Upon reflection he realizes that he normally would have heard her footsteps, her breathing, any number of things, with his heightened senses, that would have prevented things from ever starting; he is honestly a little ashamed to be caught so wrong-footed.

So the first hint that there is another person in his vicinity is when a person, face covered by a hooded sweatshirt, comes crashing into Steve from the side. His reflexes take care of the next thirty seconds, grabbing the surprisingly light body (this must be a woman), maneuvering them both back onto their feet (wow, she smells amazing), and letting her go. His brain catches up enough to stammer out an apology, and if he wasn't sure before from her stature or the light, delicious floral scent she carries, he is now when a full grin and the words "whatever, man" make their way out from under the hood. She is already speeding off in the opposite direction from Steve as he is left wondering what the hell just happened.

As he looks around, trying to regain his bearings, he sees that she must have come running from the street to his right. He hears the sounds of someone moving about, shuffling feet and the clatter of metal, and he heads over to investigate. What he finds is an older man, likely opening up his shop, muttering as he picks up cans of spray paint about "Goddamn teenagers, they're all on drugs." The man moves away before Steve can ask him if he's alright, and he finally gets a glimpse of what the shopkeeper is muttering about.

On the wall next to the man's shop he sees graffiti of two policemen, dressed in uniform, kissing each other on the mouth. He can smell that the paint is fresh, can see that this is what made the shopkeeper angry, that this was what the girl was doing that caused her to come running into Steve.

Why would anyone do this? Why would someone draw on a wall? Why a picture of two policemen kissing? He could concede that the artist - the girl- had some ability, which made him even more confused. If she had the talent to make real art, why would she paint something he didn't understand on a public wall with paint from a can? Steve was intrigued by the girl, that was certain. Now he wished he had thought to stop her, so that he could ask her these questions (and smell her scent again).

He pushes his body back into it's interrupted rhythm, runs the rest of his route as the sun comes up and the city wakes. This time, although he's just as distracted as before, his thoughts are on someone just as mysterious as Bucky, but a lot closer to home.

The next time Steve sees The Girl, it's a much different encounter. Okay, it's still because he's on a run. But this time, it's the middle of the day, the sun is shining down on the city, and Steve has made it to the park that is his goal for the day. He jogs lightly from the path into a grove of trees so he can cool down and stretch. He hates being so idle; as the only person on the planet gifted with his body and abilities, feels he should be putting them to good use, but there are no moves to make at the moment, and Steve is second guessing his choice not to help Fury against HYDRA. In the meantime, he is going to enjoy the sunny day and relax a little even if it kills him.

He has finished his stretches and is lying on the grass trying not to notice all of the activity around him (child 30 feet to the north crying because he wants to go home... two elderly men playing chess at a table just through those trees... the scent of a hot dog vendor... the splash of water in a fountain...speckles of light falling through waving leaves). He rests on his back in the grass and talks to himself.

"I am going to learn how to be a human being again. I am not a machine that needs a purpose to function. I will find things I love and spend time doing them. I will draw more. I will create new relationships with people who live in this century. I will learn how to have fun."

Maybe if he repeats this to himself often enough, it will start to sink in. Maybe it will offset the other list, the one that he can't get to stop repeating in his head, especially late at night (I am going to find Bucky I will make everything better I will fix this mess I will get my best friend back I will find Bucky).

Then the wind shifts and Steve smells the clean, mouthwatering scent that is The Girl. Shocked, he sits up and looks around before realizing how obvious he's being. He forces himself to relax, and nonchalantly scans the area, attempting to pinpoint where the wind is coming from. It's not his fault that it takes so long to find her, because after a moment he realizes she is in a tree.

As his more-than-perfect eyesight focuses on the dark mass buried in the branches of an oak, he is already rising to his feet. His initial thought is to walk right up to her; instead he forces himself to slowly walk to a bench nearby where he can see her, but he is out of the way. Finally he lets himself take a look at the face that was covered by a hood and darkness on their first encounter.

He sees a mass of chocolate brown curls spilling out from what looks to be the same hoodie. Sculpted brows sit over dark eyes with long, thick lashes. He follows the lines of her face down to full, pink lips just in time to watch them form the word "shit." He glances down to see her vigorously erasing something on an artist's pad. Steve is sorely tempted to approach The Girl, badly wants to find out what she is drawing, and he is halfway off of the bench when The Girl throws the pad into a backpack and jumps down from the oak tree. He watches as she slings the large, worn pack over her shoulders, pulls her hood back over her curls, and saunters along the grass and back onto the path.

Steve sits on his bench, stunned by the course his day has taken, and ponders all of the things he is going to loom up on the Internet when he gets home.

If Steve happens to change his early morning run to a late afternoon run, if Steve happens to change his route so that he stops by the grove of trees to stretch, well, it is certainly not because of The Girl. It is simply a fringe benefit. It would be a complete betrayal of his friendship with Bucky, of the years he has spent with his best friend, of their blood, sweat, and tears, to spend so much time obsessing over some girl who, okay, is an artist and smells good and is quite pretty, but... what was he saying? A complete betrayal of Bucky. Still, as long as he doesn't actually talk with her, as long as he is simply happening across her on his morning run, well, Steve needs to run, it isn't a betrayal (especially if he doesn't think about it).

Although when Sam asks him about it, why he has stopped showing up to their morning runs, Steve tells him he just likes his new time better now that there is nothing else for him to fill his day with (Bucky, when the hell are you going to give me something to go on?). Sam, being the awesome friend that he is, shuffles some things around at the VA so he can run with Steve at his new time. Steve absolutely does not sigh at this news.

And so it is that after only a few weeks of seeing happening to run past The Girl, Steve finds himself saddled with Running Buddy Sam and trying to decide what to say about everything. Somehow he doesn't think he can get away with not mentioning it at all. He manages to get them to the grove of trees, and smoothly suggests stopping to stretch (Sam never says no to a break when he's running with Steve), but now here they are and all he wants is for Sam to be somewhere else for a few minutes (just a few minutes, he swears, Sam is a great friend and he wouldn't drop him and oh god, Bucky). Steve still hasn't figured out anything to say, but he can't stop himself from glancing over at The Girl, hidden in her oak tree, just once (okay, a few times) so of course Sam notices.

"What, are we running a new route because you've got a lead on Bucky? You need backup, man?"

Steve takes a moment to look down and sigh, hands on his hips, before diving into this minefield. He sees Sam starting to say something else, and cuts him off.

"No, no, it's nothing like that. I was just wondering what she's drawing, no big deal."

Sam glances over at her. "I know you've got amazing senses and everything, Captain, but I gotta tell you, not even you could tell that's a girl from over here, and I definitely can't see a sketchbook or anything..." He grows a smile and points a finger at Steve.

"I see. So she IS the reason you changed your route. You like this girl. Well, why the hell haven't you gone over there and asked her out, loverboy?"

"Aw hell, Sam, it's not like that." Steve starts, pulling Sam down onto the bench that he loves because he's got a good view of her, while she has to turn her head to see him. "It's a kinda long, strange story. I didn't change my route for a girl. Well, okay, I guess you could argue... but that's not the point. She's unusual and I noticed her here and I'm curious, I admit, but it's not because I want to ask her on a date."

"Well, my friend, I guess you'd better enlighten me on this long story, but it's gonna take some convincing to get me onto your 'I changed my day around so I could spy on her but I'm not interested' page. The grin has not left Sam's face.

Steve has no choice but to tell him about The Girl and their first meeting, her graffiti, and finding her here. Sam's comments range from "only you, man," with a shake of his head, to a little explanation on the graffiti "I've seen that piece! You know they're making legislation on Capitol Hill right now about gay marriage, its a pretty timely statement." In the end, though, he stands.

"Steve, you know I love you, bro, and I know you've got a lot on your plate with Bucky an all, but you're full of shit. You may or may not be attracted to this chick, I haven't even gotten a good look at her, but you have no excuse for not talking to her! So we're changing that, right now."

With that Sam is already moving toward the tree. Damn him, but he played this well enough that if Steve stops him now, it will make a big scene in front of The Girl. He quickly moves toward the oak tree, fantasizing about Sam at the foot of the tree, bound and gagged. Sam calls up into the tree.

"Hey, how's it going? I'm Sam, and this is my friend Steve. Steve here's an artist, too, and we were curious what you were drawing. Do you mind if we take a look? What's your name?" Steve is definitely going to kill Sam now. An artist? Steve isn't that talented! And nobody goes walking up to a girl sitting in an oak tree in the middle of a park and asks her what she's drawing. Dammit, Sam!

As Sam starts talking, The Girl sits up, pushes her hood back, and shakes her curls loose. By the time he's finished, her lips have curled into a mocking smile. Steve is definitely going to kill Sam now.

"Sam and Steve, is it? Well, you can call me...Stacy" she replies in a facetious tone. She looks Steve up and down. He does not blush. Seriously. "Your friend has a lot of muscles for an artist. Are you sure that's the story you wanna go with?"

Sam, however, banters back. "Hey, now, don't judge poor Steve over here. Just cause he's got a rockin' bod doesnt mean he doesn't have layers too." At this her soft pink lips open into a quiet laugh. "Now why do I get the feeling that Stacy isn't your real name?"

"No offense, man, but you guys look a bit too much like cops for me to be sharing all my deepest secrets." She is smiling, but her words are serious. Steve realizes how this might look to her, how two men who look like cops asking for her name and trying to look at her drawings would make her nervous. Steve quickly speaks up as she gathers her large, worn backpack and hops lightly to the ground in front of them.

"I can see how we look a little official, but we're military, not police. Sam here works at the VA." He says in his deep voice. Her attention is on Steve now, and his words are enough to stop her from running away. Her deep brown eyes lock with his blue and her eyebrow quirks up. "If Sam here works at the VA, what branch of the military do you work for? Is it top secret?" An argument could be made to describe her tone as playful, maybe even flirty.

Sam and he share a look. "Well, honestly, you're not too far off base with that one. Not that it matters, I'm sort of in between assignments right now...I'm taking some personal time." He pauses to clear the thoughts of Bucky from his mind. Maybe he can manage a little flirty back (NOT because he's interested in her that way, of course, but to keep her here so he can assuage his curiosity... because that's what this is- curiosity). "I have to say, I'm a little insulted that you don't think I look like an artist. Granted, it's been a while" mmm about seventy years give or take "since I sold my pictures for graphic novels" see? He even knows the new lingo! "But all the same, I think I'm being unfairly judged based on my appearance." He turns to Sam, mockingly shakes his head. "So sad that someone who looks to be a OOOO individual would judge me so harshly." Sam and he share an internal laugh before he turns back to the girl. To take it a step further, he crosses his arms over his chest, knowing his biceps will stand out even more like this. All of a sudden, he realizes he's having fun.

Her eyes do glance hungrily down at his chest and arms. "Okay, muscles, you've got me there. I admit to being totally judgemental with your secret agent self. But if you're really an artist, let's play it like this; you show me yours, and I'll show you mine." She grins then, eyes bright with mirth, and Steve is blown away by the realization that, when she smiles like this, she is not merely pretty but truly beautiful. Steve is suddenly very motivated to keep this flirting thing going.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm more than happy to show you mine. Why don't we meet back here tomorrow - same time, same place, and I'll show you anything of mine that you want."

For a minute she leans in just the slightest bit. Then, biting her lip, she steps back, shoulders her pack, and salutes the two men standing before her. "At ease, gentlemen. Maybe you'll see my work tomorrow." With this, she lopes onto the path and within moments she is lost to sight.

Both men exhale loudly. Sam is the first to break the silence.

"Holy shit. Let it be said that Steven G. Rogers has got game! I am very proud of you, man." Sam whoops, bouncing a little and grinning a lot. Steve smiles.

"Actually, I think that's the first time since I found out Bucky was alive that I've had a bit of fun. You are still an interfering pain in the ass, but this time I think it was a good thing." He claps the dark skinned man on the shoulder. "You know, we've still got the whole run back to do. Lets get moving!" Sam groans as Steve starts jogging back to the path, now filled with a new sense of purpose, and even more energy than usual. "But for tomorrow... let's run at our old time. I think this is a solo mission."

Sam isn't winded yet, so he replies "you got it, Cap." He breathes deeply, hesitating for a second before he comes out with "just a thought to keep in mind... your mystery vandal girl there might be homeless."

Steve's running stutters to a halt (while Sam victoriously attempts to create a lead). Within moments, of course, Steve has caught up to him and questioning him. "I only know what homeless looks like in the Great Depression. What makes you think that?" He is genuinely curious, as well as worried. This certainly adds a layer to the mystery that is The Girl.

Sam shrugs. "You know I've seen plently of it through the VA. I've got a sixth sense at this point for people who are homeless and hiding it. It's the little things, like her carrying around that big ass backpack; could be she's got everything she owns in there. Her clothes aren't exactly a normal going-to-the-park outfit, more long term wear kinda stuff. Same with her shoes- they were heavy duty hiking boots, look like they've seen a lot of use."

The supersoldier quietly contemplates this for a bit. Apparently it's too long for his friend, who pipes back in "hey, man, I'm sorry if that messes things up. One thing I can tell you is this: if she is homeless, she's dealing well, taking good care of herself. Keeping in mind what she was like today, I'd say she might get pissed if you march in here tomorrow trying to help her. Just... keep it in mind. This way you might just avoid one of the many awkward conversations you're bound to get into without your pal Sam here to help you." They share a smile; if only that weren't true.

Watch Steve as he spends half the night pacing around his (empty) apartment. Watch as he hold his phone while contemplating calling Natasha, only to decide better for the tenth time. Watch him flip through his sketchbooks trying to decide what to show the girl; then, later, if anything is even good enough to show her; even later than that, if he should even bother meeting her tomorrow. Let's not talk about the time he spends trying to pick out clothes.

Truthfully, Steve knows what he's good at, and he is confident in those skills. He knows that his body will never let him down like it did before Erskine and the serum. He knows that he can fight the bad guys few others can. He can lead troops in battle, he can stand up for what's right. Steve knows when to follow orders and when to ignore them (regardless of what Tony Stark thinks). Steve never used to be good at talking to girls; that was all Bucky's domain. At least back then he knew the rules. Since he woke up he has been dealing with this new world by burying himself in what he does know, by working for SHIELD, by trying desperately to find Bucky. Honestly all of that time Natasha kept trying to fix him up on dates was wasted, because he simply wasn't able to have fun when he was filled with thoughts of everyone he knew, dead. Finding out Bucky is alive, as heartrending as it has been, has given Steve a little push in that direction. After all, Bucky would kill him if, when Steve finally brings him back, he has no life to show for the years he has lived free. Steve has been feeling that spending his time doing anything other than searching for Bucky is a betrayal; now he wonders if the real betrayal might be wasting his life, when Bucky has had all choice, all options for enjoyment, ripped away from him.

Watch Steve as he attempts to justify his desires to his long lost, brainwashed supersoldier best friend. In his head, because he can't find him. This is pathetic.

In the end Steve showers after his run with Sam (and subsequent teasing / pep talk), throws on an outfit Natasha told him looks good without bothering to look in a mirror, grabs a few sketchbooks at random and heads out the door.

Maybe walking wasn't such a great plan; he knows himself well enough to know that he needs to stop thinking, and get to the part of the day that involves maybe flirting with The Girl. He tries to remember all he can of the German he learned during the war to keep himself from thinking too much as he heads through the city to the park. Maybe he doesn't love D.C. the way he loved Brooklyn, but he has definitely grown comfortable here.

None too soon, he nears the grove of trees where she will be. He atempts to fix his hair, then stops himself. He is fine with the way he looks, and if he is going to keep this girl's interest, it shouldn't be because of his hair.

He steps into the grove and heads to her oak tree only to be pulled up short; it is empty.

Shit.

He hadn't thought too much about this scenario, to be honest; it seemed like borrowing trouble to start worrying about whether she would come. Now he wishes he had prepared himself a little bit more, because that balloon of hope in his chest where he held all of the thoughts that he was doing something good, moving forward with his life, has deflated.

To hell with this, he thinks, and finds comfortable place to sit. He's got sketchbooks, and a few pencils, and he is going to sketch outside and enjoy himself today. He doesn't need a girl (no matter how good she smells or how prettyher smile is) to make his day fun.

Of course, when she comes strolling along twenty minutes later, he forgets all of that crap as he scrambles to his feet.

"You're late, mystery girl. You're lucky I was still here."

Then, as a shot in the dark, "I don't suppose you're going to let me in on your name today?"

Pulling her backpack off and letting it fall to the ground, she shoots him a frank look as she sits. He joins her.

"If I wanted people to know where I was, I'd tell them myself. I'm happy with my anonymity, secret agent Steve." He digests that for a bit.

"I don't have a watch."

"What?"

She smiles and pulls her pack upright, starting to unzip it. "I was late because I don't have a watch. I wasn't all that sure what time it was yesterday when we talked." She looks down as she rummages through her pack, avoiding eye contact. Smooth.

"Well, now I feel like a jerk. So I'm gonna let you take a look at my stuff first - just...be nice, ok?" He hands her a sketchbook before he can put his foot any further into his mouth.

Minutes pass, and The Girl says nothing, taking time at every page to really look at what Steve has drawn. She smiles at times, and nods to herself, but doesn't look up until she has gone through every page. He doesn't mind at all, so entranced is he with her smiles.

After a moment she looks up. "So… you're Captain America, huh?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: thanks for reading/following! seeing the notifications really made my day. I know this chapter doesn't have a lot of action, but it's all leading somewhere!

leave a review, pretty please!

disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, the comics, the movies, none of it.

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"So, you're Captain America, huh?"

When he became Captain America the world was embroiled in the biggest fight of its existence. Steve may have made headlines and been in newsreels, but he did in all from the front lines; he never saw the public's reactions to all of it. Seventy years later, everyone knows who he is and has grown up hearing stories of his exploits. Men like Coulson idolized him, others hated him, but everyone knew of him, and everyone had an opinion. This is why meeting new people is so hard, he thinks; they meet Steve, but they already think they know Captain America.

Well, Steve has spent at least the last five minutes enjoying himself. The universe must have decided that's his limit for the day. Sigh. Dammit. It is safe to say that the pit has dropped out of his stomach. He sits still for a moment, unable to look away from The Girl, and he has no freaking idea what to say. The Girl isn't laughing, isn't accusing, but is waiting patiently for him to answer.

After a moment he shifts, runs his hands over his face, laughs a little, and flops down onto the grass on his back. "See, this is why I never socialize." He smiles faintly, head turning toward The Girl, who smiles down upon him. "Can I ask..."

"What gave it away, so to speak?" She pipes in, affecting a faux- thoughtful look, hand on chin and eyes in the air. "Super muscle-y, athletic guy, who runs through the park at quite the clip, in the military but it's shady; all of that is one big clue. But honestly you gave me a sketchbook to look at with pictures of this chick with a '40s hairdo, same with the dudes...actually, all of these drawings have the old timey feel. Put it all together..." she has leaned back, contemplating the sky as she speaks. Steve takes the opportunity to glance at the smooth expanse of throat this pose shows off to him. Then he looks away, because he is emphatically not putting the search for Bucky on hold for the afternoon because this girl is pretty. It totally isn't about that. To his surprise, it really isn't about her beauty right now, but about what she says next.

She glances back down at him and he realizes that she's probably expecting him to speak. "Good to know. Consider the mental note made: 'never show drawings to anyone ever again'." His tone is joking, but his words are actually pretty serious.

She laughs lightly, head resting on knee and fingers ghosting over those soft pink lips, before turning back to his drawings. "Okay, then. You're Captain America, etcetera etcetera, can we talk about what's in here?"

Good Lord. This girl is something else. Maybe Bucky wouldn't mind being put on the back burner for a girl who cares way more about his art than the fact that he's Captain America. Now, though, he's a little more nervous about what she has to say. He squirms uncomfortably. When it comes down to it, everyone has an opinion about his work; so few know him well enough to say anything about his private life.

Steve sits up, takes the opportunity to scoot a little closer to The Girl so they can both see what they're talking about. "Please, go ahead." He is nothing if not polite, especially when it helps him fake the calm he doesn't feel.

Her chocolate curls swaying forward, The Girl flips through the book with slender, delicate fingers. "To start, you have really good technique. I think you have better technique than I do. I'm jealous." She turns to look up at him, smiling, and he realizes just how close their faces are. It would be so easy to just lean down... but of course she is still focused. On his art, which is awesome. Focus, Steve.

"That being said, what are you trying to say here? What's the purpose of the art? A lot of your work feels conflicted, and some of it..." she flips through the pages to find one in particular "look at this one. It's like you started out strong, and then you weren't sure where to go. I can see exactly where your mind started to wander, where you stopped wanting to draw this guy. I'm assuming that these are friends of yours from the war, and I don't want to be disrespectful, but..." she stops to think. Steve is held rapt by her words. "...it's like you think you should be drawing them, to remember them or honor them or whatever, but then you get going and you lose whatever inspired you to start in the first place. Does that make sense?" She turns to look at him.

The super soldier looks back at her, trying to figure out what the hell you say when someone breaks down the whole of your life, your state of mind, into a handful of words. The mystery that is The Girl deepens, drawing him ever further into its depths. The longer he stays still, bright blue eyes wide open, soft lips parted, waiting to receive words from his stuttering brain, the more nervous she gets. Finally, she speaks. "Shit. Shit! I'm sorry, Muscles. I mean Steve! Wow, I'm an asshole to say all of that to you. I stand by it, don't get me wrong, but that was probably pretty harsh." A tiny hand is on his shoulder, and he wants to keep it there forever, basking in the small warmth.

She isn't going to stop herself anytime soon, so Steve speaks over her, shaking his head and laying a hand over the one that rests on his shoulder. Her skin is soft. "No. No, its okay, really. No, I think I really needed to hear all of that. It just took me by surprise. I mean, do you always expose people's inner turmoil within a day of meeting them? Or am I special?" He is smiling, now, and he sees that she is blushing just a little.

"Oh, y'know, when you spend all your time watching people, you tend to pick stuff up." She jokes, still blushing. "I've spent a lot of time watching a lot of different people all over the place."

"Hmm. Well, now that you've figured out, in ten minutes, my secret identity and the existential reasoning for why my drawings aren't all they can be, how do you feel about sharing yours? Drawings, that is. You did promise." He comes as close to purposefully flirting with her as it is possible for Steven Rogers.

She has been rummaging through her bag as he talks (he does not try to peek at what is inside, because he was raised a gentleman, even though it is an enormous temptation to see what is in there), and she has a drawing pad in hand. She makes as if to hand it to him, then pulls it back with a smile. Steve plays along, pretending that he couldn't have caught it anyway.

"Actually, I'm only gonna let you see one picture today. You've got to earn more, so no peeking!" She flips to the last filled page with one hand as she runs her fingers through her curls with the other, eyes trying to be stern but dancing merrily instead. "This is what I'm working on right now."

Steve takes the pad from her carefully, eyes shifting from her face to the page. He sees a style similar to the graffiti he saw that night, clean lines and realism. Though it is far from finished, he can clearly see the image of a young man breastfeeding a baby.

He takes a minute to look, really look at what she has put time and effort into, and finally looks up at her, shifting to face her. This is his chance to find out some of the 'why's' that have been plaguing him.

"Will you tell me about this? Tell me everything. I don't understand why you drew this, and I want to."

So they spend the sunny late spring morning talking, and Steve gets a crash course in gender identity and modern society. All of this is completely new to Steve, but The Girl doesn't laugh or judge his questions, instead answering him as truthfully as she can, and with such passion that he can't help but feel it too. He is so far out of his element, but she is open and honest, gesturing emphatically with her hands or running them through her curls, leaning into him at times; he is captivated by her speech, and even more so by her ideas.

After a while he looks back at the sketch.

"How do I get to see more of what's in here?"

She grins as she takes the pad back. "Two ways." She looks to make sure he is listening. He raises his eyebrows to show he is. "One: you have to draw something good. And by good I mean something meaningful, that you want to draw, even if you don't know why. It cannot be a 'supposed to' drawing." At his laugh, she rolls those deep brown eyes and smiles for a moment. "You know what I mean! We don't make art because we are supposed to. None of that is welcome here." She speaks these last words with such passion that Steve wishes he could keep them forever.

"Okay, okay, I get it. Steve must create meaningful art. What's number two?"

"Two is you help me spray paint this on a wall somewhere." She waves the pad. As he immediately starts sputtering, she shouts, waving the pad more emphatically. "C'mon, Steve! This is art! It's all about taking risks! You know you want to. Plus, I could use a helper who can run really fast" she jokes. "Whaddya say?" She jokingly tries to make puppy eyes, but the expression on her face is arrestingly beautiful.

Steve smiles, tilts his head back, eyes closed. He stays like that for a moment, then shakes his head, still smiling. "I don't know... you're still working on that one, right?" She nods. "How about I work on drawing something good, to start, and when you're ready to put that up you let me know. You're crazy, you know that?"

She nods again, laughing. "I definitely know that. But you're crazy for wanting to talk to me! Don't think I didn't see you, looking at me from the bench, too shy to come up and talk." She leans towards him, definitely flirting this time. He flushes at the mention of his (not stalker-ish) watching of her. "Actually, I take that back. You need more crazy in your life." He shakes his head.

"If you knew what crazy stuff I've dealt with, you wouldn't say that. I got shot by my best friend not that long ago."

She raises her eyebrows. "Point. Then let's say... less crazy in your work life, more fun in your personal. Sound good?" The way she bites her lip as she banters with him will haunt his dreams tonight for sure.

He laughs. "Here's to wishful thinking." For a moment they are silent, and he realizes that they've been talking for hours. He stands, stretches. "I've got to get going." What to say next? He wants to see her again, but isn't sure how to ask. The fact that he didn't confirm whether or not she is homeless does not simplify matters. To his relief, as he's debating internally, she steps in.

"Well, maybe I'll see you tomorrow then? You can tell me if you made any progress drawing and I'll continue to tempt you to break the law" she winks.

"Sounds like a plan. See you tomorrow." He has gathered his sketchbooks, saluted her with them, and walked away before he can turn this goodbye into something awkward. Heading home, he jogs lightly, smiling and bouncing his way home. He already has an idea for what he's going to draw tonight.

The next morning he calls Sam up on the phone, because modern technology is not hard to figure out. Why does everyone think he's against progress?

"Sam. How are you? I need a bit of advice. Do me a favor and don't make me regret asking you."

"Steve, buddy! What's up? You know I've always got time to help you out. Please tell me this is about your little love affair. How did the date go?"

Steve huffs out a sigh. "You see, this is exactly what I'm talking about. Yesterday was not a date. I, unlike some people, am a gentlemen, and trust me, meeting at the park is not a date. It is about The Girl, though." Here he pauses. It's times like these when he misses Bucky most. Bucky would have been right in the thick of things, and Steve aches thinking about it. Sam is a good friend, but this is Bucky's territory. It feels wrong to go to someone else, knowing that Bucky is out there right now, doing God knows what.

"Sam, this girl is amazing. I had a great time, we talked about art and other things for hours. I didn't feel awkward at all. But the way we left things yesterday was that we would see each other today like normal, and I don't know proper etiquette anymore. It feels wrong to stop by expecting for a repeat of yesterday, and it feels weird to jog by with you, to stop and chat for a bit. Will she be expecting me to ask her on a date? Am I taking up too much of her time?" Steve apparently needs to finally give in and watch some television, so he can see some examples of how people interact who aren't government agents.

"Oh, Steve, I've got you covered. Don't you worry, your wingman has got your back!" Steve can easily picture the expressions and gestures that go along with Sam's words. "Here's what's going to happen; we are going to go running to the park at our new time. You're going to stop by and say hi, and I will say hi, and I will leave you two to talk. You focus on getting to know her better, and forget about everything else. If after a few minutes it looks like I'm gonna finish the run on my own, well then that's what I'm gonna do. Don't worry about it. Whaddya think, Cap? Sound good?"

Steve calms, knowing that Sam's idea is the easiest option. For some reason, though, there's something that still doesn't feel right about all of this. What is it that feels so strange?

"Steve? You there, man?"

His attention snaps back to the call. "Sorry, Sam. I got a little distracted. Your plan sounds great."

Apparently his response is a little lackluster because Sam's quickly questioning him as to whether or not he's okay.

All of a sudden, Steve realizes that he is really not okay at all. "Not really, Sam, I'm not. Just…" he pauses and runs his fingers through his hair as he attempts to put his thoughts into words. "I just don't know how I got here. I like this girl, and I have had more fun with her in the last couple of days than I have since I realized Bucky is still alive - no offense - but what the heck am I doing? I don't remember deciding to have a normal life, I feel like I fell into it all, and now I'm stepping back and wondering whether this is all such a good idea." He feels like these last few days he has been more exposed and vulnerable than he has since he woke up.

"Oh, Steve, my friend. Let me start by saying that you will never, ever have a normal life. It's just not going to happen. You are extraordinary, whether you're working for SHIELD or fighting Nazis or doing nothing, so let's keep that in mind. But I have two questions for you. Are you ready for them?"

Steve nods, and then when he realizes that he's talking on the phone and Sam can't see him, mumbles something to the affirmative.

"My first question is this: if I were asking you for advice because I found myself in a situation like this one and I told you that I felt like I couldn't have a life outside of my work, what would you say?"

Steve thinks. "I'd tell you that everyone deserves to live their lives they way that they want to, that that's what we fight for, and that you'll probably be a better fighter if you have things to balance you out at home." Silence for a moment. "Oh, okay."

"Let's not stop there. My second question is this: when, and I am saying when, my friend, because it WILL happen… when we find Bucky, what the fuck are you going to tell him about what you've been doing the last few years? How are you going to help him come back to himself if you haven't lived a life outside the job?"

A longer silence, this time. Steve focuses on breathing for a minute, just absorbing what Sam had to say. He sees the situation here with a little more clarity, now, but that doesn't mean that the whole enterprise doesn't terrify him. He became Captain America to do something good during one of the worst times in human history; he never had a chance to learn how to be a person again before the plane went down. He certainly doesn't know how to be a person in this new century. But, for Bucky, to help him, and also because he does deserve it, he will try. He doesn't think that The Girl is the only way towards a life outside of work, but he'd be crazy to turn away from the one thing bringing him out of his shell.

"Thanks, Sam. I really needed that."

"No problem, man. You know you're not even close to the only person I've coached through this transition, right?" Steve laughs.

"Yeah, I know. So… I'm gonna go do non-work things, and I will see you in a few hours. Thanks again. You're a good friend."

"It was my pleasure, Cap. See you in a bit."

Steve walks over to his desk. He puts his phone down and picks up his drawing supplies. He sits, opening up to a new page and getting his pencils out, and then stills. With eyes closed, breathing deeply, one minutes passes. Then two...three...more. Steve opens his eyes, taking one last deep breath in before turning to the page in front of him. He starts drawing, and doesn't stop for more than an hour. He sits back, feeling suddenly drained and quite hungry.

He goes through the motions of making himself some eggs on toast, eating on autopilot while his brain continues to process the conversations he's had in the past few days. Finally he stirs, coming fully back to reality, and stands. He cleans his dishes, then moves to the bedroom and dresses for is run. Today he has no trouble picking out clothes to wear; partly this is because he's not feeling ashamed of the fact that all of his running gear shows off every single muscle on his torso. Last he packs a small, lightweight pack he can wear while running, putting his sketchbook and pencils, water and a snack (and a few extra in case Sam or The Girl want one) inside and putting it on.

Five minutes later, Steve finds Sam at their usual meeting place, and they start their run.

Steve makes sure to ask Sam about what's new, and so as the two men run, he happily focuses on his friend's stories of his new crush on the hot girl who just started working at his favorite coffee place. As they enter the grove of trees, slowing down to a jog, Steve's eyes automatically search for The Girl.

Behind him, Sam must have been looking as well, because he hears "hey! Where's Mystery Girl?"

Steve smiles. "She's here somewhere. I can tell." Sam grumbles about stupid super soldier senses, unfair, but Steve is focused on The Girl's unique scent floating through the air. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to locate it's origin.

"Hey guys, what's up?" Steve's eyes snap open in time to see The Girl drop from a tree branch onto the ground between him and Sam.

Sam jumps. "Holy shit, give a man a little warning before you pull a stunt like that!"

As the two banter back and forth, Steve unslings his pack from his back, takes a drink of water, and settles himself on the ground. This is exactly what he should be doing today, he thinks; enjoying the warm summer sun with people who make him laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N : thank you for reading/ following! It makes me smile when I get the notifications.

Umm...there's a little smut in this one. More to follow in subsequent chapters. Hopefully you like it.

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It is one of those perfect days; the sun is shining, not a cloud in the sky; it is warm, but not too hot, with just enough of a breeze; the three of them have been sitting under the shade of the oak trees, sprawled in the grass for long enough to get comfortable. The Girl is sketching in her pad while debating gun control laws with Sam, and this is perfect for Steve, because he gets to hear both sides of a contemporary issue he knows nothing about and he's not expected to contribute. The two of them are impassioned but not angry, enjoying the intellectual battle and the chance to make jokes, not taking any of it too seriously. Steve basks in the breeze, leaning back on his elbows, watching the leaves dappled with sunlight overhead. The way that the two of them interact -The Girl and Sam- differs so obviously from his own interactions with her that he feels now confident that she would not object to them being more than friends. It put him at his ease, a little bit, because he has gotten enough of a read on The Girl to be sure that she will not wait around for him to make a move.

He has stopped listening to their conversation by now, drawn into the play of the leaves in the wind, thus it takes him a second to hear his name. So relaxed has he become that he simply rolls onto his side, cocking an unapologetic eyebrow at the pair.

He sees The Girl leaning toward him, eyes dark and teasing. "Hey, Captain Muscles. Head in the clouds? I was asking you about your assignment."

Ah, yes. For this, he sits up, dragging his pack to his side so he can bring out his drawings. Wordlessly he turns to a page - she would never know, but Steve has drawn the stretch of river where Bucky pulled him out- and hands it over for perusal. Sam, nosy as ever, leans over The Girl's shoulder to see. She pushes him away, and he melodramatically slumps to the ground, feigning injury. It strikes him then that The Girl has already carved out a space for herself in his life. This is simultaneously encouraging and terrifying when he realizes that the next step is for her to meet Natasha.

The Girl looks up at Steve, smile shining bright on her face. "Ahh...this is fucking awesome, Steve! You went way beyond what I thought you'd manage in a day." She lets out a cheer and Sam joins her, making him blush just a little. "You have definitely earned another peek at my work. In fact..." here she holds up a finger, grabbing her own sketchpad and ripping off the top page, "I drew this with you in mind." She bites her lip coyly, waiting for his reaction.

Steve receives the drawing with some trepidation as to the subject. It is obvious to him that this is what she has been drawing as they've talked. He holds up the page, angled so Sam can view it as well.

'Captain Muscles' is the headline the drawing bears on a banner at the top. Underneath is a caricature of Steve: hair perfectly combed, face exaggerated but still handsome; his torso bulging with ridiculously large muscles, hands on hips; the look completed with his normal running clothes and a cape to top it off. The background, Steve notices, is The Girl's graffiti, and Captain Muscles comes equipped with pencil and paper in hand.

Sam is laughing so hard he has fallen back to the ground. As Steve looks up at The Girl, she smiles and winks at him; heat flashes through him for a moment, and he tries not to let it show as he smiles back at her. He likes this drawing. For once, it has absolutely nothing to do with Captain America. This is a sketch of who Steve is without being a superhero, and he appreciates that.

"Girl, please tell me I can get a copy of that! I will beg if I have to." Sam finally asks after he has gotten his laughter back under control.

"I'll do you one better," she offers, "why don't I just make one about you?"

Steve chuckles. "Please do. I'd like to see that almost as much as I like mine." She preens for a moment, obviously pleased by his compliment.

"Yeah!" Sam crows.

As Sam and Steve get ready to depart, hours having passed in the blink of eye, the same as yesterday, The Girl speaks up.

"I have plans for you the next time I see you, Muscles." There is definitely an undercurrent of something else in those words.

"Oh yeah? What plans are those?" Steve has spent the day feeling comfortable around her; he is flirting shamelessly now, or at least flirting to the best of his ability.

She leans in conspiratorially, a smile framing her face. "We are going shopping."

Huh? Steve frowns in thought. "Not to sound unenthusiastic, but...shopping for what?"

The Girl bounces a bit, curls mimicking the motion. "Why, I need your help picking out my next canvas! And since you're going to help me put it up, I think you should have some say in where it goes." She finishes magnanimously, with a graceful curtsy.

"Ahh...that." Steve looks down, scratching the back of his head. Suddenly, inspiration strikes him. "Hey! Sam! Sam would be great at helping you shop. I don't know what I'm looking for, I'm sure he would be better at this than me.

Sam looks up from where he had been texting Natasha. "Say what now? Steve, I know you didn't just volunteer me for something to get your pansy ass off the hook. I know this, because if you did do that, while I was talking to Nat, I would have to let that slip to her, and you know how she gets about you not being social."

Busted. "Great! It's you and me, Captain Antisocial. You free tomorrow?"

Best not to put it off any longer than necessary. "I guess I am. Would you like to meet here?"

She snorts, pink lips pursing slightly. "Well, seeing as I don't plan on defacing grass, I think the park is a waste of time. How about we meet at 16th and church?"

Steve reluctantly agrees, and they settle on a time (approximate, this time, since Steve has learned his lesson). He makes to leave, but sees that The Girl has something left to say.

She looks down, obviously uncomfortable. "Ok. I didn't want to tell you, but I feel like I should, and please don't hate me...a month ago or so, I might have done a piece with you in it when I saw the museum exhibit. It's still there, I think, and now you'll recognize my work, so. I just wanted to tell you." She keeps her gaze lowered, waiting for his reaction.

Steve hears Sam's choked off reaction behind him, but he is focused on The Girl. He looks at her soberly. "Well, then, I guess we'd better take a look at it tomorrow."

She looks up at him and nods, relieved that he is giving her the chance but obviously nervous to see his reaction. Steve gives her a particularly warm smile to make up for how they left things, and he and Sam head off.

Sam is laughing at him as they start to run. "Oh God, Steve. Hahaha...only you, man."

Steve's only response is a polite "on your left" as he speeds up and leaves Sam behind.

That night when Steve is in the shower he can't help but think of The Girl. Honestly, he has thought of her since he left her; the way she bit her lip, or leaned in close to him, the curves of her body as she laid in the grass.

Now in the shower, Steve's hands can't help but drift down his stomach as he imagines those same curves in his bed. He pictures cupping her full breasts as his hands find their way down to his cock, already flushed and swollen. One hand strokes his shaft as the other circles the head, thumbing his slit and the sensitive skin under his head. He sees her biting her lip, this time to keep from crying out in pleasure, and his hands speed up a bit, one hand reaching down to fondle his balls as the other grips his stiff prick tighter.

He has never seen a woman in the throes of pleasure, but he imagines it now as he works himself closer. Arousal runs up and down his spine like lightning and he feels himself harden even further as he pictures her underneath him, back arched, cries forcing their way past her lips. Yes.

A groan erupts from Steve's lips. "Fuck." His hands quicken again, his hips unable to stop thrusting into his fist as his arousal reaches new heights. "Oh fuck." He is close now, so close, and he just needs one more thing to get him over. Her lips spring to his mind, the look on her face dark with desire as she brings his cock to her mouth...

That is all it takes before heat and electricity flood his body and he is pumping out his release, sounds coming from him that he didn't even know he was making. He pumps himself one last time, letting his come wash away down the drain as he leans back against the shower wall to catch his breath.

Steve knows that it is perfectly normal for him to touch himself. When he was young it was a sin, and something that was never really to be talked about, but people in this century are unashamed, talking of it, using toys to do it, and let's not even talk about what Steve has seen on the internet. He is terrified to think what it says about humanity that, after creating something as brilliant as the internet, they choose to use it primarily as fodder for masturbation. Natasha had cautioned him away from looking at pornography online (as if he ever was interested...well, ok maybe he was, just a little). She had told him that looking at those movies would give him unrealistic expectations, and that at least until he had experienced the real thing, he should stick to his imagination.

Now his imagination is filled with The Girl, and he is trying to rid himself of these thoughts as he goes to meet her. He will not be able to look her in the eyes if his mind is still filled with fantasies of her writhing underneath him; the fact that he touched himself last night while thinking of her is bad enough. He forces himself to think of war, of mud and blood and gunpowder and coffee that tasted like dirt, men who died in front of him, Schmidt's face underneath the mask. He settles himself down to wait as he reaches their meeting place, firmly steering his thoughts away from lips and breasts and a plump, firm ass...no. Bad Steve.

He doesn't notice her at first, which is saying something, since Steve is by nature (and serum) an exceptionally observant man. She strolls up to him, slipping around people as they walk, so normal as to be invisible. With her hood up, the only way to identify her is the same delicious floral scent as always that he picks out of the air as she nears.

He stands to greet her, and she pushes her hood back, curls cascading out, gives him a smile paired with a quick glance up and down his body. Steve went for nondescript with his clothing choice for today, and he sees a nod of minute approval.

"Hey! How's it goin?" Her smile is not the dazzling, 'you did something awesome or said something funny, I really like you' smile that makes Steve's stomach clench; it is instead warm and relaxed, which Steve is definitely on board with. Until (if ever) he decides to make a move, he will need to focus on being friendly so as to hide his attraction to her. No erections in public- that is a good goal for the day.

Steve replies to her query (though what exactly he said, he is not so sure), and they begin to make their way to the Smithsonian. Steve is in full observation mode today; if he is to ever find anything out about the mystery that is The Girl, now is his chance.

This is what he sees: she moves through these streets the way he thinks Bucky would (God, Bucky, where the hell are you?). Or like any spy- not that remotely thinks this is a possibility. But while she walks she watches everything, noticing little things happening around her, anticipating the steps of passersby before they make them. She is graceful and fluid. She nods to people that Steve has barely noticed (he is a soldier, thank you very much, he isn't completely unaware) - she obviously knows these people that lurk in alleyways or who sit quietly in doorways. There are a few times when she cuts through alleys, loading docks, walkways he didn't know existed, and he comes to realize how much better she knows the ins and the outs of the city than he. He wonders how long she has lived here, then wonders how uncomfortable the conversation will be if he asks.

All the while, as they walk, she is pointing out potential sites for her newest work. She wants these ones to be visible, she says; these issues need to be talked about more, need to be more visible to the public. She points out the side of a popular drugstore chain, a wall near a bus stop, a parking garage; all are public buildings, or corporate chains. To Steve it seems she does not want to hurt the locals, and when he asks her, she affirms that this is indeed part of her reasoning.

They slowly weave their way through the city. Although some locations get a veto from Steve on account of being too exposed (he really doesn't want to do this, and if he is he definitely doesn't want to get caught, but she just smiles a slightly evil, slightly daring smile), in general Steve doesn't have much opinion about where this goes. Having made their way to their destination The Girl asks him his favorite spot as they near the Smithsonian, and his answer is the spot that is (of the not completely strategically unsound) most aesthetically pleasing. When she hears his response she turns to face him, still walking, and smiles a smile of breathtaking beauty- it says how pleased she is with him, how much she agrees, how much of a kindred spirit she has found in him. In that one moment, the entire prelude-to-committing-a-crime walk is worth it.

Then they near the museum. She guides him around the back, explaining that this piece was purely inspired by Captain America, with no political agenda, and so it came to life on a wall of the building that was far less exposed to the public eye. For this Steve is thankful. He knows enough of this beautiful girl to know that whatever he is about to see will be startling or embarrassing or uncomfortable in some way. Honestly, it seems that The Girl lives to make others uncomfortable. Although she did show nervousness in her confession yesterday, today The Girl seems to be calm, reserving emotion until she can see his reaction. She is obviously not ashamed of the piece itself.

The pair finally make their way around the building and there it is. He attempts to mentally prepare himself for whatever he will see there. This is what he sees: Captain America on the left, right out of the WW2 propaganda posters that he's sure she saw in the exhibit inside. On the right stand a line of men, all facing the Captain. There are words- he walks closer to read "Everyone salutes Captain America." Hmmm. He looks up to confirm that the men are not saluting. Brow furrowed, he looks to the picture again, trying to decode the meaning... ah. Okay. There is that feeling of discomfort he was prepared for. As soon as he figures it out, he whips around, facing away from the dirty wall, blushing.

"Those men have..." here he is lost for words; he cannot bring himself to say it. He stares firmly at nothing, willing his blush to disappear. Definitely uncomfortable.

"Yeah, that's the point. They're saluting you in their pants. No offense to you, but honestly I couldn't even focus on the exhibit I was so busy staring at pictures of your muscles..." she trails off, moving closer to him, trying to catch his eyes. He shies away from her gaze. Looking the woman who made art as a tongue-in-cheek nod to your physique? The very definition of uncomfortable. "Holy shit, can you really not say 'erection'? Come on, man, I know you were raised in the '20s, but they had erections back then, too."

Steve closes his eyes. Now she's talking about erections again. This is not helping his blush.

She nudges his shoulder jokingly. "Cmon Steve, the way you're reacting, I'd think you were a virgin.." he grimaces the tiniest bit. Damn. Busted. Let the jokes commence.

"No. No, no, no. You," she pauses for dramatic effect "Captain America, Steve fucking Rogers, cannot be a virgin. Really? Really?" She is incredulous, mouth agape at the thought, still trying to look him in the eyes. "It's not possible for someone as insanely fucking hot as you" what? Insanely hot...hmm.."to be a virgin. I get the whole middle of a war thing, but you've lived in D.C. for like two years now! How has someone not jumped you?"

Now he looks at her. He might not have social graces, but he takes his work seriously. "I have been kinda busy, you know...the whole secret agent thing?"

That stops her cold. She straightens, thoughtful. "Actually, you not getting laid 'cause you're too busy working is pretty believable from what I know about you. Damn." That seems to take the wind out of her sails for a moment. She takes a deep breath, shaking her head.

There is pause, and Steve hopes for a moment that he is off of the hook. Then The Girl gathers steam again. "Fuck that. It is a travesty no one's fucked you. Completely unacceptable." He flushes at her language, and intent. This is beyond embarrassing. Not that he wouldn't have told her, if they'd gotten there, but it seems unlikely she'll be interested now.

While he's been mentally soliloquizing on his lost chance, however, the beautiful girl in front of him has stripped off

her hoodie. And is toeing off her shoes and working at the button of her jeans.

Oh god.

This has to stop. This is not how he wants to watch her strip (and he does want that, enough that it is hard for him to move). He grabs her hands gently before she can ruin that whole no-erections-in-public thing. "What are you doing?!"

Her face is so close to his like this, her lips just inches away. So close he could just lean down and taste...but no. He tries to listen. "What does it look like I'm doing? You are a virgin, it is wrong. I am fixing it, right now." She makes to twist out of his grip, but he holds her wrists gently but firmly in his graso. For some reason this makes her moan.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey now, I'm really flattered, and all, but this doesn't seem like the best time or place for...um...that." he coughs a little in embarrassment. At this point he can feel the heat coming off of his ears as well. He'd like to let her go so he can pick her hoodie back up, but he doesn't trust her to keep her hands to herself.

"I'm an old-fashioned guy, you know. "

She tries to free her hands again, eyes closing a little, eventually opening to quirk an eyebrow at Steve. "You don't seriously believe in waiting until marriage, do you?" The expression on her face would be best described as 'anticipatorily derisive'.

"Not anymore, I don't." Her expression lightens. "But I DO believe that...intimacy...should be kept out of public places." This he manages to get out with his usual amount of confidence and snark.

She grins lazily up at him. "Oh, the things I could teach you. I would have so much fun proving you wrong. Are you sure I can't even give you your first blowjob?" Her face is the picture of innocent solicitousness.

There goes the no erections in public thing. Damn.

"Thanks, but I'm not really looking for pity sex." The Captain America commanding voice always works. He lets her hands go, and to his relief, they stay at her sides.

"Touché." She recovers. "Well, what do you think of my piece?"

Steve can't help but start laughing. He looks behind himself at it. Considering the conversation he just had, it doesn't seem so bad anymore.

"You are something else, you know that?" He laughs some more, a genuine belly laugh. "I think...it's flattering. We'll go with that."

She is smiling the kindred-spirit smile which is his favorite on her. "I'll take what I can get from, Captain America. That guy really turns heads, you know?" She follows her statement with a wink.

Lord help him, this girl is trouble.

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Please read and review! Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: hello! Thanks for reading, favoriting, and following! And extra big thanks for my first review! Yay! Letx keep those coming.

So. Umm. No smut. But, one of the reveals! Enjoy.

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Three weeks later, Steve is out to dinner with Sam at their favorite Indian place. As they sit down and settle in, Sam starts talking.

"Ahh. I am starving!" He exclaims as he peruses the menu. "What are you gonna have? If you get the saag paneer can I have a bite?" Every time they come here, Steve always orders enough food for three normal people, and Sam always steals bites of his saag paneer. It's becoming a tradition.

Sam looks up from his menu (Steve isn't sure why he's even looking at it since he always orders the lamb vindaloo, but that's beside the point). "Sorry I haven't been around lately, man. Things have been nuts over at the VA."

Steve smiles and waves his apology off. "Yeah, yeah. I know you've been spending all your time trying to get that new girl at the coffee place to go on a date with you, don't lie."

"Hey, now, no need to poke fun at the normal guy who has to work to get dates!"

Steve snorts. "Why do you think I don't have to work to get dates? You've never seen me on a date since we've met. I haven't been on a date since 1941, when Bucky got drafted, and let me tell you- those dates were memorable only for how disastrous they were."

"Now, instead you're embroiled in a strange mutual admiration society with a mystery homeless girl who, I have to admit, is both quite the hottie, and able to put up with your crazy ass. She wins my seal of approval." Sam says with an eyebrow wiggle. Steve rolls his eyes.

"Whatever you say, buddy. Now are you gonna tell me about the coffee girl or what?"

This launches Sam into a story that continues as they order, and even into their appetizers. They are both chuckling happily as the waitress comes to clear their plates.

"Enough about me, though. How's my favorite Captain doing? I need all the details on what you've been getting up to with our favorite mystery vandal."

Steve smiles. Truth be told, the last few weeks have been more fun than he has had since he woke up. He finally feels like he has settled into being Steve Rogers, outside of his work. He has hobbies, and friends... and a sort of life.

"You know how we were talking about Bucky, and how can I help him find his way back to normal if I don't know how to do it for myself?" Sam has his serious listening face on, the one he wears at the VA for group. "I think I might finally be getting there. The last coupla weeks have been really good, they've...I dunno, given me hope that I'm not such a complete freak that is only good for fighting bad guys." Sometimes this stuff is hard to put into words. But he has faith that Sam will understand him out of anyone.

"That's great, buddy! I knew you could get there eventually. So what have you been doing that's got you feeling so positive?" Steve wonders if Sam realizes he's in full on counseling mode. He smiles, thinking about all that's happened in the last few weeks.

"Well, I've still been running, still been doing my usual training. I talked to Natasha, and she gave me more intel on those Hydra bases we think he was kept at; it's more of the same. No sign of him, no activity in the bases in months. Whether he took them out or they ran, they're gone and there's no trace of Bucky. She said the thought that these ones were high up on the list if he was out to get revenge, but if he was there, well... there's no sign of him." Steve sighs, and across from him, Sam grimaces in sympathy. The super soldier slaps his hands down on the table.

"So no new leads on that front. But I've been doing a lot more drawing, and I even went out and bought some painting supplies the other day. I've been feeling really inspired, and The Girl has definitely been pushing me to create things that show some part of what's going on in my head, you know? It's nice to be challenged, when it's not a fight for my life." Steve adds wryly.

Sam jumps in. "You go, my star spangled friend! I like this new Steve with hobbies and artistic expression and shit. But. Steve. Cmon, man. Has she STILL not told you her name?"

Steve laughs at this, tilting his head back to rest on the booth back with a smile. "I've asked her as many times as I can without making her mad, but she won't tell me. I think she's worried that we're gonna look her up in the system, you know? Government agents and all." He sobers for a moment, pensive. He's been thinking about this a lot. "I think she's got people out there looking for her, and for whatever reason, she doesn't want to be found." Before Sam can ask, he jumps back in. "I don't get the feeling that she's scared of them, or anything like that - I don't think she's in trouble. When she talks about not wanting to be found, she looks...angry." Steve shrugs. "Either way, she's a grown woman, and it's her choice. I'm not going to take that away from her. I just wish she'd trust me enough to give me her name."

Sam nods. "I get it, I do. I see a lot of soldiers come through the VA who are estranged from their families, and they'd rather be homeless, when it comes down to it, then lean on family they don't get along with. I always try to get them enough other options, enough support so they don't end up on the streets, but it doesn't always work out that way. It's heartbreaking." They share a look of deep understanding. War has had lasting effects on the both of them.

"Well, she's definitely homeless. She at least admitted that much. She said she's a 'rail hobo' - she jumps onto trains and rides around that way." Steve nods at Sam's raised eyebrows. "you know, the first thing I thought when she told me that was 'they still do that?' I mean, that kind of thing was big during the Depression, when I was little. Seems crazy to think that it still happens."

Sam seems to still be processing this information. "Wow. Well, that's new, to me at least. But how long is she gonna stay in town, then? I mean, homeless by definition mean she has no permanent place, but it seems like she must move around the country a bunch."

The blonde nods. "She did talk about it. She pretty much goes where she can make money, or stay with friends, or where she knows she can get enough food to get by. She said she was just down in Florida, working on a farm- there are lots of places that hire illegal Immigrants. Either way, she has some money and she's doing ok getting food. That's all I could get out of her." Steve doesn't want to be too hypocritical, but he does curse her pride a little. "It's damn frustrating, for me to know that I could help her. I've got more money than I know what to do with, and she could stay in my spare bedroom if she needed to, but she doesn't want the help." He feels frustration well up in him, remembering so many times when he was a kid that he didn't have enough food. No one should have to go through that.

"You're one to talk, Mr. Stubborn." Sam laughs. "I get it, you know I do. But you know if you push too far, she's gonna disappear. And with this girl, that probably means she'll be across the country. I bet there are subtle ways you could help her out, like buying spray paint for her art or something?"

Steve blushes, ducking his head. The truth was, he had done exactly that.

Steve had met The Girl at the same spot as before. This time he was even more nervous. Steve is not a goody two-shoes, and he certainly isn't blind to the follies of government (he felt this way even before SHIELD turned out to be infested by Hydra; now he'd say he's cynical out of necessity and experience). He isn't one for mindlessly following the rules, but he's pretty damn nervous about breaking the law. Maybe it's the thought of doing something he's never done before, or taking a (non Captain America related) risk, or maybe it's because when he usually breaks the rules it's spontaneous, not planned out like tonight. Maybe he's nervous because he doesn't want The Girl to think he's an idiot. Probably all of those things and more.

Either way, he wanted to contribute something to tonight's adventure, (and if he's helping pay for something when his friend doesn't have a lot of money, well...) so now Steve is carrying his running backpack filled with spray paint. It is late at night, and the street is quiet, so this time Steve hears her coming even though it takes a moment for his heightened eyesight to pick up her form slinking through the shadows.

She nears him, and as always he inhales her delicious scent. "Sup, Muscles? You ready to do this?" She asks with a big smile. He smiles back at her, nervousness slightly dissipated.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be." He answers wryly. She turns and they start walking toward the site they both liked best from their stroll through the city. As they walk, The Girl gives him a brief rundown of what's about to happen. She is animated as she speaks, gesticulating and bouncing, all the while a big grin on her face. It makes Steve grin too, seeing her so excited. He feels more alive now than he has since he woke up- none of the crazy stunts he's pulled fighting for SHIELD have made him feel this way.

The next half hour Steve will forever remember in brief little flashes. He sees The Girl's beautiful face, smiling as she asks him if he's ready. He sees them working side by side, taping up her design. He hears the clacking sound of spray paint bottles being shaken, smells the chemical odor as they start to work. He knows that he must have looked around, listened for the sound of someone finding them out, but instead he remembers the moment when The Girl tells him to sign the work next to her own tag. And he definitely will remember forever how he chooses what symbol will represent himself on the wall, and how it has nothing to do with Captain America.

As they run, giggling, away (Steve making sure not to run too fast and leave her behind), The Girl grabs his face in both hands and places a smacking kiss right on his lips. He comes to a stop, shocked, and touches his fingers to his mouth, feeling her warm, soft lips still. In a daze, he starts after her again. He wonders if he will always be chasing after her, stunned by the next surprise.

Steve hides his blush as he nods to Sam, remembering the kiss especially. "I did exactly that. I'm just hoping for more opportunities to surreptitiously help her out. And hoping that she sticks around for a while."

That sobers Sam a bit. "I'm glad that you're having so much fun with Vandalism Girl, but I have to remind you that when she leaves, I'll still be here. And so will Natasha, even if she's not around. If you need someone to critique your art, we'll get you signed up for a class, or if you want to talk to someone else, we'll hook you up with some good vets at group." He sighs, touching Steve's hand on the tabletop. "I just want you to know that you don't have to backslide if she leaves. YOU'VE made these changes in your life, and if you need someone to support you in keeping them up, you'll have that no matter what."

Steve is speechless for a moment. He forgets sometimes how good Sam is at his job. "Wow. Those vets at the VA are darn lucky to have you, Sam. Almost as lucky as I am to have you as a friend. I mean that, buddy. I don't know how I'm gonna repay you for being crazy enough to be friends with a dope like me."

This makes Sam burst into laughter, and the two of them laugh together as the waitress brings their food and they dig in.

Steve gets a phone call. Natasha's face stares up at him from the screen.

"Rogers."

"Steve. I have news for you." Steve sits up.

"About Bucky? What is it? Where are you?" He might admit to being a tad impatient to know what's going on.

"It doesn't matter where I am, the information's from over by you- the Smithsonian. One of my informants got word to me that someone fitting Bucky's description was seen at your exhibit. It was a couple of weeks ago, but it's a lead."

Steve swears. Weeks. Bucky might have been here, and he didn't know about it! Even if it was him, the chances that Steve will get lucky and find his trail are close to zero.

Still, he's not giving up. Ever. A lead is better than sitting around mourning the fact that his best friend is out there, alone, brainwashed (to what degree? Is he Bucky again, or the Winter Soldier?).

"Thanks, Natasha. You're the best. Give me everything you got from your informant."

She does. Then, she hesitates. "Steve, I'm going to do everything I can to help you find him. But you might think about bringing Stark in on this. He could use facial recognition software to look for Bucky, and his computers aren't at risk for being hacked by Hydra. I know that it's a risk, but you might soon find yourself at the point where it's the only move forward. "

He sighs. "You're right. We'll see how this lead pans out, first, but you're right. I'll try to wrap my brain around ways to convince Tony Stark to help looks for his parents' probable killer. That's gonna be a fun conversation. "

Natasha snorts. "And that's exactly why you're going to be the one having it, instead of me. Stay safe, Steve."

Ten minutes late Steve is out the door, heading to the Smithsonian to view the security footage for himself. He heads past their meeting spot, and thinks of The Girl. He takes a moment to admire their street art as he passes it. As he nears the Smithsonian, he thinks of how willing she was so rid him of his virginity.

No. Focus on Bucky.

He enters the museum, and heads straight for the security office. After explaining what he needed, he is set up at a computer and given access to the footage for the day Natasha's informant said Bucky was here.

Hours pass. Steve might have enhanced sight (among other things), but he knows that Bucky, or at least the Winter Soldier, is aware of where the cameras are placed, and knows how to keep himself hidden. He goes slowly, not wanting to be at all unsure that he has seen every person.

There.

There he is.

What Steve sees is a man in nondescript dark clothing, baseball cap covering his face, facial hair somewhere between "stubble" and "full beard." He freezes the frame. The more he looks, the more sure he is that the man on the computer screen in front of him is really Bucky.

Steve breathes out a sigh of relief. Then his head floods with a million different questions.

Seventeen days ago. Does that mean he is still in town? Why didn't he come see me? Did he see me, and I just didn't notice? Does that mean he's remembering?

That is the real question. Is he remembering? it will make all the difference in trying to find Bucky if he remembers who he was... before.

Steve watches the video all the way through. Looks at Bucky's face for any hint of emotion, any clue as to why he's there. After the third time, though, he admits to himself that it's time to go home. He thanks the security guards, heads outside, and realizes that night has fallen long ago.

He gets out his phone to call Sam.

"Hey, Steve. What's up?"

"Hey Sam. How are you? I found Bucky." It all comes out in one big breath.

"What? That's great! What?"

"Sorry, I'm still processing this. Nat called, one of her informants called, said they had word Bucky was at the Smithsonian. I'm just leaving now. It was true. He was here, seventeen days ago. At my exhibit at the museum."

"Holy shit, man. That's big! He was here! Is he remembering, do you think? No clue where he is now, though?"

"Nope. I know, I'm thinking the same things you are, and I've got no answers. Let's get together tomorrow and figure some of it out."

Steve hears a noise emanating from an alley ahead. Yelling, scuffling, and the sound of glass breaking follow one after the other. The he hears someone yell "get the fuck offa me!"

"Sam? I'll talk to you tomorrow. There's a fight going on in the street over here, I'm gonna make sure everything's okay."

"Steve Rogers, getting into street fights from 1930 to 2014. Okay, go save people. We'll talk tomorrow."

Steve hangs up and pockets his phone, moving into the mouth of the alley. He calls out to whoever is hiding there. "Everything all right here?"

A figure stumbles out from behind a dumpster, kicking something on the ground. The person weaves in an uncoordinated toward Steve, and he tenses slightly.

"We're all fine over here, rent-a-cop. Don't you know the real cops don't bother coming down this way? It's all druggies and thieves, I'm afraid." The person is still moving forward, and Steve steps forward as well, wanting to ensure that whoever got kicked behind the dumpster is alright.

He calculates ways to take this guy down. Obviously drunk or on drugs, any ability to fight likely impaired...should be easy enough to get around. As much as this will forever be a part of who Steve is, it's time to check that everyone's breathing and get home.

Then he hears something that makes him freeze.

"Steve?"

Coming from further down the alley, he hears a familiar voice.

"Steeeeeeve! It is you! Hey Muscles!"

It is definitely, unequivocally, The Girl's voice he hears.

"Hey, Marco, leave Steve alone, he's cool. Steve! Hey. What're ya doin here?" As she nears the man standing in front of him (Marco, apparently), he can tell that she's slurring her words. She might not be stumbling like Marco, but she is also on something.

Steve takes a deep breath in. Out. What happened to you, Girl? As wild and crazy as she is, he never thought she was doing drugs... never got any sort of hint from her. What is he supposed to do now?

"Hey Girl, what's going on?" He can't keep his tone light, hard as he tries. This whole situation is wrong.

"Steeeve! Delicious muscled man. Come play with us!" The Girl has made her way to Steve by now, and he gets a look at her face before she throws herself onto Steve in a sort of hug. She doesn't look good. She is pale and sweaty, pupils dilated wide, her body uncoordinated.

"Why don't you come play with me instead?" Steve asks, plan already in mind. He just has to get her away from this creepy guy...

"Ohh. I will DEFINITELY come play with you, Steve!" She giggles "Catch you later, Marco! We're gonna go 'play'!" This last sung in a singsong voice.

Perfect. Before she can realize what's happening, he leads her away from the alley.

"Wait! I need my bag!" No! He was so close. Okay, change of plans. He scoops her up onto his back ("yay, piggyback ride! Go Muscles!"), and quickly runs into the alley. He silently thanks his super eyesight as he easily spots her pack in the dark, scoops that up as well, and heads away again. Marco seems to have lost interest by now, and Steve decides to ignore that man lying unconscious by the dumpster. He just wants to get her out of here.

They make their way down the street. The wiggling and bouncing The Girl is doing is not helping. "Hey! Girl, I really need you to be a little less wiggly back there, okay? I can't believe I still don't know your name." He says this mostly to himself, as he's pretty sure she's not listening.

All the same, she settles in, draping herself on his back, her head resting on his shoulder. She mutters something under her breath.

"What's that, honey?"

"Viola."

He is stunned. "Viola is your name?"

She nods sleepily against his neck. "Mmmhmm. M'parents are big fans of Shakespeare...'vrybody calls me V."

V. This beautiful, artistic, energetic, tragic girl has a name. Steve smiles as he makes his way through the darkened streets. And as he tucks her into his spare bed, while she sleeps on, blissfully unaware, he smooths the hair from her head and whispers "goodnight, V."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hi! Thanks for reading, following, leaving some lovely reviews. How am I doing so far? I have such plans...and Bucky will come in eventually. Actually, I'm curious how you all see that happening. I dropped a hint in this chapter- see if you can spot it!

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Steve does not sleep for very long that night. After putting The Girl (No-now we know her name)...Viola...V...to bed, he spends the better part of an hour doing as many pushups as he can (don't want to wake her if he wrecks another heavy bag); it turns out that he can do quite a lot of pushups. He loses count after he reaches a thousand.

He does eventually get himself in bed, and asleep, but strange dreams of falling, and fighting, and darkness, wake him quickly. It is four in the morning when he finally throws his sheets back and temporarily blinds himself turning on the light.

He can't stop thinking about what she was like in that alley. Has she been abusing drugs the entire time he's known her? Steve ponders different ways to have this conversation with her. He is resolute in his intention to get...V...help. He will talk with her, he will ask Sam for advice, and she will get clean. If this means that she doesn't want to be friends with him anymore, well...her health is more important. As he plans, he googles (he can hear the voice of Tony Stark in his head saying 'oh my god, the Cap can google?) rehab clinics in the D.C. area. To be honest, Steve is sorely tempted to look at missing person reports - how many missing women can possibly be named Viola? - but he refrains. She obviously doesn't want her family involved, so he will save that tactic for a last resort if she refuses help. Plus, she confessed her name to him while she was high; he doesn't want to abuse her trust.

Plans starting to form in his mind, Steve sneaks over to the spare bedroom and quietly looks inside. There she is, sleeping (in her clothes, he wasn't about to strip her) peacefully. Her brown curls fan across the pillow, a few falling over her face, and his hands itch to brush the back. He admires how long and thick the curve of her eyelashes is as they touch her cheek, but as he takes in her face he notices how sad she looks in sleep.

Steve is struck again by the depth of mystery this girl holds. He desperately wishes to know more about her, and he prays that she will let him help her.

The woman sleeping before him turns, restless, and resettles, but not before the hem of her shirt has risen half a dozen inches. Steve stares for a moment at that expanse of skin, struck by how badly, even through all that has occurred this night, he wants to touch her. He wants to find out if it is as soft as he imagines. He wants to pull her shirt up higher and...

No.

That is definitely not what his brain should be focusing on right now. Steve straightens and turns for the door.

Viola sobs. She writhes, as if in pain.

"He's dead."

There is another quiet whimper, and then she must pass into deeper sleep once more, because he can see her body relax.

Steve walks out the door, closes it quietly, makes it to his kitchen and rests his head in his hands, leaning against the countertop. This is not where things should be going. There was a plan, and plenty to focus on already, and honestly Steve doesn't want to be thinking about this.

But he does. He thinks about the beautiful girl's sadness in sleep. He thinks about what could have turned her away from her family. Most of all he wonders who. Who this man is who left her so heartbroken...father? Brother? Husband? Of course this last is what stays with him, strikes him as most right. She was in love with someone, and he died.

The idea that there might not be anyone at all, that it might have just been a dream, doesn't occur to Steve until later. By then he's questioned everything he knows about reading people anyway.

Steve moves to the sink, fills a glass with water, drinks it down. His mind is filled with thoughts of Viola, and he knows that running is the only way to clear it. Out onto the streets he goes.

His thoughts whirl without focus for a time. It usually takes him four or five miles to get himself into the zone, focused enough for only one line of thought. He runs his long route mechanically, pushing himself hard enough to have to focus on the road, his breathing, navigating obstacles.

It strikes Steve as selfish that he's focusing on her assumed tragic past, when there's a giant problem staring him in the face: her drug use. He needs to stop thinking about her possible dead husband (and how this affects the two of them) and get his head back in the game. He has a plan to follow through with to get Viola some help.

Step one of the plan means stopping at a grocery store on his way home from the run. He wants to make her comfortable; he isn't sure what foods she likes best (given an actual choice, instead of dumpster diving or however else she manages to feed herself), so he gets a bit of everything.

Back at the apartment, the sun is finally filtering through the windows, and Steve moves to take a shower. He dresses, eats breakfast, all while imagining how she will react to his intervention. He is prepared for anger and argument, knowing what he does of Viola.

Not wanting to wake her, Steve settles on his couch with a sketchbook. He becomes so lost in the page that it takes him a few minutes to register what the sounds in his apartment mean.

She is awake.

His eyes are on her door, but he keeps his sketchbook in hand in an attempt for nonchalance as he waits for her to emerge.

Shuffling ensues, and the door opens.

Viola walks to the living room (still shuffling her feet), hair a mess of curls, eyes barely open. She plops herself down in the chair across from Steve and promptly curls in on herself as if she is going back to sleep. The only clue that she isn't doing exactly that is one half opened eye aimed at him.

He sets his sketchbook aside, moves to open his mouth, but Viola holds up a finger. He waits for her to speak.

She yawns, stretches herself like a cat, and rests her head on the arm of the chair, this time with both eyes open and aimed at him. She yawns as she speaks.

"One: you totally kidnapped me last night. Two: since you kidnapped me, I demand you feed me. And let me take a shower and wash my clothes. Three: did you just move or something? There is not a single decoration or picture in this whole room. Oh, and four: good morning. Kidnapper."

Steve raises an eyebrow. Why is it so easy to slip back into banter with her? "Good morning, Viola. Not sure it's kidnapping when you jump on my back and pretend you're riding a horse. And I've lived here since the winter. What's wrong with my apartment?" A smile may or may not have appeared on his lips.

She groans immediately upon hearing her name. "Ugh. Noooooo. Bad Steve, taking advantage of my weakened state to get state secrets out of me. I can't deal with you using my name...well, ever...but especially not before breakfast. So get to cooking! And call me V, ok?"

Steve stands and makes his way to the kitchen, glad it is open so he can continue this conversation. Already there's an opening for him to start the intervention.

"Okay. What do you want to eat?"

"Food. Lots of food."

Okay then. He starts cooking his favorite breakfast, eggs in a basket. "Coffee?"

"No, thanks. Tea?" She looks at him hopefully. Right. It's not likely she'd have regular access to coffee.

He nods and goes to put the kettle on. Now he can get down to business.

"I'm not sure you can blame me for taking advantage of your 'impaired state' when you put yourself there on purpose. And totally volunteered your name. Do you remember much from last night?"

The kettle sings and he sets about making her tea.

Viola scoffs. "Please. I wasn't THAT fucked up last night. And I chose to be in an impaired state with a bunch of people whose opinions I don't give a fuck about, not in front of you, Captain Judgy."

Hmm. Does that mean she does care what he thinks? He stays quiet, finishing her food and plating it before bringing it to her.

She sits up. "Ahh, food. Yum. Thanks, Steve." She happily munches for a few moments before glancing up to see Steve's face.

"Oh, I get it. You really don't approve, do you? Got a speech about how I need to clean up my life, blah blah blah?"

His inability to meet her eyes says it all, so he might as well go ahead now. "I can help you. We'll get you into a program, get you clean. I don't want you to die because of something stupid like drugs."

That's about all her can get out before she sets her plate aside, draws her legs up under her, holds her hands out.

"Okay, I'm gonna stop you right there. Thanks, I guess, for the concern? But I'm good." He makes to interrupt her but is quieted with a stern look. "Not done, buddy. I'm pretty sure you have no practical knowledge of drugs, and what you do know you got from some government program's spiel. The real world isn't as simple as all that. I know you think everyone who does drugs is an addict, but it's way more complicated than that."

She sighs, attempts to run her fingers through her hair, gives it up when they get stuck in tangles halfway through.

"I'm not saying I've never been into drugs. Certainly in college I made some bad choices, got involved in some crazy situations-"

"You went to college?" He can't hold it back. Another piece of the puzzle. He gets a stern look again for interrupting.

"Yeah. Dropped out." She takes a breath. "I was saying...ok. I've been hard into drugs before. Realized how stupid it was, got myself out, made better choices. But that's not what last night was." She leans forward, looks Steve right in the eyes.

"Seriously, Steve. It was a one time thing. There's... there's just one day every year that's... a really bad day." No looking at him now. She's lost in her own head. "Sometimes remembering is hard, on that day, and I make some bad choices to get through it. You happened to see that, and I wish you hadn't. I promise you, it's not a thing. I don't do drugs, normally."

Not even nine o'clock in the morning and the day has already taken a far different turn than he thought. He shouldn't be surprised by now; it seems to happen every time he's with Viola.

It occurs to him that this all might be a lot more related to her sleep talking than he had originally thought. It makes sense, in Steve's tactician head at least, for her to be so distraught over the anniversary of her (father's? Husband's?) Loss that she was driven to use drugs. Steve is smart enough to know he's not going to ask her if his hypothesis is correct.

He takes a deep breath. Looks her straight in the eye. Gets slightly distracted by her eyes, how deep he can stare into them, how beautiful she is. Starts over. He clears his throat.

"Promise me. Promise me, Viola, that you will not use drugs again. I'm not going to ask you for details- I know how private you are, but I need you to promise me. I can't be friends with you if you are doing that stuff."

She rolls her eyes at him, but smiles warmly. "Okay, Dad. I promise. I wasn't planning on doing drugs anyway, but just for you I'll stay clean. Seriously, though, call me V, or Vi... please."

A wave of relief rushes over him. He got so far into his worried delusions of her being a junkie that, now that they have laid everything out, he feels a little ashamed for assuming first and asking questions second.

"Viola is a perfectly beautiful name. It fits you well. Why can't I use your beautiful name?"

She rises, smirks, rolls her eyes again. "Whatever, Steven Grant Rogers. I'm going to take a shower." She moves to grab her backpack and takes it into the bathroom. Steve hears the shower start as he gathers up the breakfast dishes and cleans up.

Steve spends a moment thinking about Viola in his shower, right now, naked and soaping herself up. He feels heat roll through his body. To stave off another inappropriate erection around the girl, he moves back to the couch and buries himself in shading a figure he drew that morning. Must not think of Viola naked. At least until she's gone, and he can work the tension out.

"Steve?" Until that moment he hadn't realized the shower had turned off. He turns to the door, to see...

Viola, naked. She has a towel in her hands, that she's using to dry off her hair. Instead of around her body.

Oh god.

He is looking now, he can't stop himself. He sees toned legs; supple calves, firm thighs, and even the perfect curve of her buttock. His eyes trail up her stomach- slightly rounded, with thin silvery lines tracing her skin, to her breasts, which stand full and rounded, bouncing slightly as she towels her hair. Her arms are toned, strong, the curve of her neck delicate. He is overcome by a desperate desire to lick the whole creamy span of her skin. He wants to slide his hands from her shoulders to her back, down to her ass. He wants to know what she sounds like as he kisses the length of her neck.

Oh god he is so hard right now it almost hurts. He shifts uncomfortably, moving his hands in front of his crotch.

"Steve? Earth to Steve!"

So, there's that. He has been blatantly staring at her naked body while she's been, apparently, talking to him. Blush is not a strong enough word to describe what is happening on his face right now. He can't make eye contact, lest his eyes slip down to the rest of her body.

"Umm. Yes. Yeah?"

He glances up from the floor and sees her smirk. She cocks an eyebrow. "Admiring the tats?"

Huh? What? "Huh?" Okay, that was smooth. Steve desperately wishes he could channel Bucky at this moment. He glances back down at Viola's body. Aha- tattoos.

Steve sees several small designs gracing her skin: a wolf in mid stride resides on the back of her arm; a snake coils around her left calf. Her feet have geometric designs etched into the top of them. "Ahem. Yes. Very nice."

She smiles knowingly at Steve. "Thanks. I did those ones myself." Whoa. What? "Anyway...I was hoping I could borrow something to wear? I want to get all my clothes in the wash while I have the chance."

His gaze drifts down to her collarbone, and lower...

"Yes. Absolutely. Um. Let me just go get something." Dear lord. If he doesn't get her clothed soon, he might actually spontaneously combust. He turns, heads quickly to his room, and pulls out a pair of drawstring shorts and the smallest top he owns. He knows she's waiting for him, but he takes the time to adjust himself in his pants, willing his erection to subside.

"Here you go. Nothing's gonna fit you, exactly, but that's my best try." He looks over in the corner until she pulls his clothes on, finally turning to face towards her.

Wow, she smells amazing- like her normal scent, but stronger. "You smell delicious! How did you manage that from my shower?" Okay, that sounded a little weird

Viola laughs. "It's my soap. I make my own, whenever I'm staying with a friend and I have the chance. I make a big batch and keep the extras in my pack. I use it to wash my clothes, too."

"You know, I'm a little ashamed to think that you have more skills useful in the Depression than I do. I'm also pretty impressed."

She beams at that. "Oh, I've got all sorts of skills you don't even know about." She pauses for a moment. "Wow, that sounded really dirty, and hey- you should totally take it that way, I've got mad skills in the bedroom-" she winks at him, "-but I actually have some pretty awesome survival skills. I can start a fire without matches, make an awesome shelter, forage for food, all of that stuff."

"I don't doubt it." He doesn't- she's obviously a survivor, and he doesn't doubt that she can get by on her own. "I'm just a city boy. Things were a hell of a lot different back then, but I'm still a city boy at heart."

It's so easy, being around her. They flow so effortlessly. She makes him forget all of his problems- like finding Bucky.

"Oh, shit, Bucky."

Viola looks a little shocked. "Holy crap, did Mr Moral swear? What the heck is a Bucky? Like Buckminster Fuller and geodesic domes?"

"I don't know what that is, so no, and of course I swear. I went to war against Hitler, there was a lot of swearing." He's already walking into the kitchen to grab his phone. "I can't believe-" internal monologue, stay internal. He can't believe with all of the craziness of finding Viola, this morning, everything.., he has totally dropped the ball on his ONE lead, his only lead in months! He has already dialled Sam's number, holds the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Sam."

"Steve. I'm surprised you waited this long, I kinda thought you were gonna be calling me at dawn this morning. I'm heading in your direction now- I got the rest of the day off of work, and I'll be at your place in 10."

Phew. At least Sam didn't drop the ball. "You're the best. Come right up."

Somewhat relieved, Steve hangs up and turns to a very confused Viola. "Umm...yeah. I don't really know what just happened."

Steve leans his back against a counter and blows a big breath out, nodding. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Right before I found you in that alley yesterday, I got a lead on someone I'm looking for." He looks up at her; she calmly returns his gaze, no judgement in her eyes. "My friend, Bucky. You've seen the exhibit, right? Bucky Barnes, my best friend in the world, who died in WW2, not very long before the plane went down." He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Turns out he wasn't dead at all; Hydra captured him, tortured him, brainwashed him, turned him into an assassin. They literally froze him, then they'd take him out, program him, he'd kill somebody, and they'd put him back on ice. We didn't know any of this until this past winter. He came after my boss, he tried to kill me, damn near succeeded, but then at the last minute he saved me. I've been looking for him ever since, and this is our first solid lead."

God. Saying it all out loud...he's torn between wanting to cry and wanting to break something. What he really wants is Bucky here.

Another shuddering sigh. "So Sam's heading over and we'll see what shakes loose." A thought occurs to him. "You're gonna stay, right? I mean, you haven't even done your laundry yet." Her smile, which was sympathetic, turns genuine. "You should stay here for a few days. I mean, I kidnapped you, right? That means I get to say when you leave." For all his bravado, he desperately wants her here, both for his sake and hers.

She shrugs up at him, still smiling. "We'll see. Depends on whether you let me decorate your apartment for you."

"What?"

"Come on, Steve. Considering how long you've been living here, there's not a single personal touch in this place. I wanna decorate!" She is bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. "Actually, I have a brilliant idea. Oh, please, Steve?" At this last, she even bats her eyelashes, pouting.

God, those lips.

"How painful is this going to be?" He says doubtfully.

"It's gonna be great! You're going to help, it will be so much fun!" Her enthusiasm is contagious. Finally he smiles. He reaches into his pocket and hands her some money. He's used to being frugal, but he has plenty, and making Viola excited is a good reason to spend some. "Will this be enough?"

She seems torn between not wanting to accept his money, and excited for whatever plans are in her head. She finally pockets it with a smile. "More than. You know I can make do without." When he nods, she straightens. "I'm gonna go do my laundry so I can get this show on the road!"

As she turns away, there is a knock at the door. Steve goes to let Sam in.

"Hey, man. How's it going?" Sam's cheerful as he enters the apartment.

"Ready to find Bucky, that's for sure."

Sam laughs quietly as he makes his way to the living room and sits. "That's the spirit! Impatience." He pulls out a tablet. "Let's get planning, then, shall we?"

Steve joins him. He quickly fills Sam in on what he learned the night before (wow, it seems like longer). He details his appearance, his behavior. What really stands out to Steve and Sam both is how good Bucky was at avoiding observation. It is going to make finding him again near impossible.

"Nope. We can't think like that. You're committee to finding this crazy bastard, I know, so we can't let ourselves be discouraged..."

Sam trails off, staring at the hallway to the kitchen, where Viola is passing, giving the men a wave.

Oh yeah. Viola, here, wearing Steve's clothes. Probably looks like, well, exactly what Steve wishes it looked like.

"Oh yeah, Sam, Viola's here..."obviously, idiot. Hmm. He doesn't really want to explain the whole 'drugs' saga of last night and this morning, at least not without clearing it with her first. How to explain?

"- Steve kidnapped me last night. I'm taking advantage. How's it going, Sam?"

Well, that's one way to put it. He sighs. Sam stares at her blankly for a second, obviously processing, before his face breaks out in a big grin.

"Viola, eh? Finally found out her name, huh Steve? I'm doing great. Honestly, I'm more curious how the two of you are doing?" There is eyebrow wiggling happening. Steve rests his head in his hands.

"Can we focus on finding Bucky? Please, Sam?" He really is begging.

"Yeah, Sam. Leave poor Steve alone. And if you call me Viola, bad things will happen- it's V. Steve's the only one who gets to call me Viola." She stares sternly at Sam, arms crossed. "I'm gonna get out of your hair until my laundry's done. Steve?" She turns her gaze to him with a smile that speak of plans. "Prepare for epic. Awesomeness. It's gonna be great." Viola walks off down the hallway.

Steve looks at Sam, still grinning like a madman.

"Nope. Not what you think, let's not talk about it, Bucky! Remember, Bucky, let's focus on Bucky instead." Steve is definitely rambling. At some point, discussing sex is not going to embarrass him. He'd like that day to be now, please.

After some teasing ("oh, 'Steve's the only one who gets to call me Viola,' huh?") they do settle down and make some plans. Twenty minutes later Steve is letting Viola know where the spare key is so she can get in and out while he's gone.

The day is spent chasing dead ends. They head back to the Smithsonian, checking records from that day to see if Bucky used a credit card (no- cash, untraceable). They view the footage again, Sam trying to notice things Steve might have missed (he might have missed the hot chick next to the sign, but he didn't miss anything Bucky related). They view the external camera logs, to see which way he went (answer: nowhere. He leaves without ever being in view of the cameras). They case the exterior of the museum, trying to trace his route. None of this helps.

Hours later, Steve and Sam head back to the apartment with pizza. They sit, slightly dejected, at the table and devour their meal. Sam straightens first.

"We're missing out on the big picture here. Okay, no, we didn't find him, and we're likely out of leads again. But we know some important stuff now!" Steve raises a sarcastic eyebrow at his friend.

"I'm serious, man. We learned two really great things today." Steve motions to show that he's listening. "First, Bucky was at the Smithsonian. That means he's either remembering things, or at the very least he wanted to find out if what you said was true, and now he knows it is. Either way, that's great! Second, he's outside, in the world, and he has been for long enough to grow a beard. That means he hasn't gotten frozen again, which means that whatever he's been up to, he's stayed out of Hydra's hands. His conditioning is likely breaking down. I don't know about you, but that is good news in my book."

Steve sits back in his chair. He had been so focused on getting Bucky back that he wasn't thinking tactically about this. He's definitely too emotional to see things clearly. Suddenly he's even more grateful for Sam's help with all of this.

"You're right. God, you're right. That changes a lot, knowing all of that." He looks at Sam, gives him a brief smile. "Thanks for being here, buddy. I need your help more than ever, seeing as how I apparently can't trust myself to be logical when it comes to getting Bucky back."

Sam returns his smile with a little more humor. "What, you mean Captain America isn't perfect? I could've told you that."

They sit in silent contemplation for a bit longer before Sam takes his leave. Steve stays there, frozen in thought still, until the sound of a key in the lock startles him out of his stupor.

Viola breezes in, radiating energy as usual, her hands laden with bags. "Hey! Is there any pizza left over there? I got so wrapped up in my project that I didn't eat." Or, he thinks, she was too stubborn to buy herself food with his money.

Sure enough, she is handing his cash back to him, barely any of it gone. He hands her a plate with pizza on it, happy to sit with her while she tells him about her day; apparently before she went shopping she brought a meal to a homeless man who's having a rough go of it. Steve is fascinated by this girl, and how she has come into his life like a tornado, forcing him out of his solitude and his routines and pushing him back into life. She is so beautiful, so infuriating, so unapologetic- and Steve realizes that he obviously has a type; smart, bold, unforgiving, brunette.

As Steve leaves the table to clear off their plates, he turns to Viola.

"So, are you ever going to tell me what this project is?"

She leaps to her feet at the reminder, spreading out the bags on the table to show him as he walks back to her.

"Look for yourself!" He can tell that she is excited, but also a little apprehensive at what he'll say.

He opens one bag to find..."drop cloths?" She nods, urging him on. The next contains paintbrushes, in sizes ranging from a few hairs thick to one used for painting a house. The last few contain paint; lots and lots of different colors of paint, the kind that you use to paint walls.

"So... paint?" She nods again.

"We're going to paint your walls, mural style. We're going to draw crazy, beautiful pictures and paint your walls with things that are going to make you happy to see every day."

Steve stands at the table, staring at this girl, this wonderful, brilliant, beautiful girl. It is perfect, her plan, and she's perfect for again dragging him along into making his life better.

Before he knows what has happened he is moving around the table toward her, pulling her into his arms, and kissing her.

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I think you know what's coming next! Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: still don't own any part of Captain America or Marvel.

Hi! This took a little longer than normal, partly due to surprise work, and partly due to the fact that..smut is hard. Cause that's what this is; all smut, prettu much. I could definitely use some feedback- like, say, whether it was good, or if I should just get on with the story already.

Very much looking forward to writing the next chapter.

Thanks for the reviews/follows!

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Before Steve knows what has happened he is moving around the table toward her, pulling her into his arms, and kissing her.

A little squeak of surprise escapes Viola's lips, and then she starts moving her lips against his, wrapping her arms around his neck with a soft sigh.

He steps in closer to her, chasing her lips, one hand pulling her in by the back of her neck, the other sliding down her back.

Her kisses light him on fire; waves of pleasure ripple through his body, and each kiss makes him more desperate for the next. He doesn't think about what he's doing, licking at her lips asking for entry, but then she opens her mouth, tongue sliding along his, and he can't help the deep groan that comes out. This is the most intense, arousing thing that has ever happened to him. He licks into her mouth, desperate for more, and she tilts her head for better access. He pulls her closer, the hand at her lower back pulling her flush with his hips. He is the hardest he's ever been in his life, and now she knows it, too.

Steve rolls his hips into hers, and Viola pushes right back. A low purr rumbles from her, and Steve desperately wants to make that sound come from her a thousand times more. He rolls his hips again and again, his cock seeking delicious friction and his tongue pillages her mouth as she arches against him.

He loves this feeling so much that he pulls his hips back, not wanting to come in his pants, while his lips move to her neck. He pulls her brown curls aside and delicately trails his lips down her neck, seeking to catalog every reaction. He smirks at the breathy sighs that escape her lips at his gentle touch. He moves back up the line of her neck with a lick, finally fastening his teeth behind her ear. Steve feels her knees buckle. He supports her weight, triumphant at his power over her.

Seeing as he is holding all of her weight, he easily lifts her up, wrapping her lithe legs around his waist. The feeling of her against him, so close, stokes the fire hotter, and he is walking them into the bedroom without thinking anything except more.

He throws her down onto the bed, and bites his lip at the want he sees so clearly on her face. Her darkened eyes, her swollen lips, chest heaving; it all pulls him toward her with magnetic force.

She cocks an eyebrow up at him, standing before her, erection straining against his pants so deliciously that he presses the heel of his hand against it for relief. "Lose the shirt and get down here, sexy."

Steve is so aroused that he doubts anything short of war would derail him from this, but nonetheless he hesitates. Is this what he wants? He wants Viola, that much he has known for weeks. He told her he doesn't want pity sex, and he's one hundred percent sure that that's not what this is. He knows that this feels so good he doesn't want to stop, but he can't imagine himself being intimate with her without...what? A conversation, at least...building up to it...though if things escalate the way they have been, he's not sure how much building he can take. He doesn't think stopping to talk is very romantic...(okay, sexy is maybe the better word here), but he really has no idea what he's doing. Although, he admits, she seems to be enjoying what he's done so far.

While Steve has been arguing back and forth in his mind, Viola has obviously realized what is happening, because when his slightly less aroused and slightly more hesitant eyes meet hers, she smiles and rolls her eyes fondly.

"Should've known this was about as far as you'd make it. I was surprised when you brought us in here, thought you'd chicken out before then." She confidently stands, moving towards him and placing her palms on his pecs. He relishes the contact. "You don't want to stop altogether, though, do you?" She grins, eying his still very hard cock.

He shakes his head.

"Good. I'm not done with you just yet. I know you're not ready for sex. Just let me take care of you, okay?" Steve is in turns comforted by her reasonable expectations of him, amused at how well she knows him, and nervous that he's venturing into uncharted territory. The nerves only serve to heighten his arousal as he nods.

Viola kisses Steve sweetly with one, two pecks on his lips, then attacks his mouth with dirty, wet kisses that ramp them both back up to the fiery want he felt not so long ago.

Steve leans in for more kisses, becoming more and more addicted to the intimacy, the possession running through him. Viola pulls back, though, and quickly tours his jaw and neck with her mouth, eliciting shivers from him. She whips his shirt off, making to return to her kisses, but she stares at his chest, licking her lips.

He waits for a moment, but when she stays immobilized, he reaches a hand out to her arm, startling her out of her stupor. She smiles abashedly.

"Umm, sorry about that. It's just, Jesus! I thought I knew how hot you were, but..." she licks her lips again. "I think I may really need to lick something off of your abs in the near future."

Steve laughs gently. This isn't the first time he's been told how good looking he is. "If you like my abs so much, why don't you go ahead and touch them?"

She moans. "Don't mind if I do." Then her hands are sliding up his sides, his senses tingling. She runs her tongue along his collarbone as her hands trace his pecs and find their way to his nipples. She pinches them gently, and Steve can't help but groan at the pleasure he feels. She pinches again, and he grabs her waist to steady himself against all of the new feelings flooding his body.

Viola quickly presses open mouthed kisses down his sternum and abs, each one making his breath stutter, as she kneels in front of Steve, nuzzling his hard on.

"Ohhhh, God." Shit, that wasn't supposed to be out loud! It's just that the sight of her, on her knees before him, looking up at him so obviously aroused, is a thousand times better than he ever could have imagined.

She runs her hand over him, still rock hard in his jeans, and looks up at him. "Steve, I want to suck your cock. Is that okay?"

It takes him a minute to get anything out at all, because fuuuuck, her asking to do that made him so very much more desperate for it than he already was.

"Yeah. Yes. Umm, please." He shakily runs his hand through his hair and allows her to unbuckle his belt and open his fly. She guides his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, helping him step out of them and casting them aside.

This is really happening. Steve feels as if he is watching in slow motion as she runs her hands up his calves and thighs, resting them on his ass. Breathe.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Her big brown eyes bat up at him too innocently to be serious.

He cocks an eyebrow. "Stop teasing and suck me already." Did that really just come out of his mouth? She moans, then grabs ahold of his dick, pumping it slowly. "Yes, sir."

He can't help the hand that rests itself in her hair; he is desperate to ground himself. She licks her lips, then leans forward to lick a line up his cock, tasting his precome with a satisfied noise. He throws his head back - if he keeps watching this, he will come all over her face before she has even started.

Next he feels wet heat enveloping his hardness, pushing down slowly and rising with even more pressure up. This feels so much better than anything he has ever felt before. "Ohhhhhfuck. Yes, fuck, shit, yesssssss."

Both hands are firmly wrapped in her hair now as she bobs up and down, faster and faster, curling her tongue around the head of his cock and then plunging down as far as she can. "Don't stop." He sighs with pleasure.

She increases suction, then pushes his cock into her throat until he can feel her swallowing around him. "Good girl. God, that's good." He can't control the words coming from his mouth, but apparently she likes them, because she moans.

The wet heat, the feeling of her throat moving around him, and her moan combined throw him over the edge. His skin is on fire, thrusting erratically into her mouth as his cum spills down her throat. She swallows it all down, lickig him clean and the sight almost makes him come again.

They both breathe deeply for a moment before, Steve struggling to regain his thoughts. The first thing he does is scoop Viola up, laying them both on the bed. He sprawls on his back, basking in the afterglow of what was likely his most intense orgasm ever, before turning toward Viola. She is curled on her side facing him, a soft smile gracing her features. He smiles back.

"Wow. That was amazing. Umm, I really really liked your painting the apartment idea, and I wanted to thank you and tell you, well, that I think you're pretty amazing...and now I'm lying naked on my bed and you're still clothed, and I think it's your turn, and that seems to tie in well with the whole 'thanking you' theme, except obviously I've never done...that...before, and..." he babbles. He doesn't know how to get out all of the wonderful things he wants to tell her about how much fun he's had since he's met her, and Steve is overcome with relief when she covers his mouth with her hand and he can finally stop.

Her smile widens. "Oh Steve. I'm happy you're happy. Now please' undress me and make me come." When she sees him open his mouth to question her, she shushes him. "I've really liked everything you've done so far. Keep going, and I'll tell you if there's something that doesn't work for me. Honestly, I'm more than halfway there already between looking at that body and how hot that blowjob was." She teases.

Never let it be said that Steven G Rogers won't accept a challenge. He had heard plenty about how to please women over the years, first from Bucky (so close, but so far away), then from the Commandos, and even a little from the internet. He wants to watch her come undone, to feel her writhe under his touch. He moves across the intervening space, placing a gentle hand on her cheek and guiding her to a kiss.

The voracity with which she kisses back is intense; he realizes that she wants him as badly as he needed her only a moment ago. Her blatant need for him gives him a heady feeling, pushing him to find that spot behind her ear and bite down on it again. This time she rewards him with an arched back and a truly indecent moan. He does it again.

Viola reaches her arms in between them to pull her shirt up and off before pulling him back down to her. "Please, Steve. I need you." Not five minutes after he has come and he is hard again, overwhelmed by the sexiness of her pleas for more. He kisses down her neck, running his hand up her ribs, moving it up to cup her breast as he kisses the top of the other. Seeing how responsive she is to his ministrations gives him the courage to reach around and (with an acceptable amount of fumbling) remove her bra.

Oh, she is beautiful, and he tells her so, reveling in her gentle blush. He lowers his head to her breast, taking a nipple gently into his mouth and reveling in her breathy encouragement. He sucks harder, pulling back to gently bite, and her hand comes from nowhere to cup his head and keep it exactly where it is.

He would love to take his time here, tasting every inch of her skin, but her voice speaks of urgency with every moan. His hand trails down her ribs, earning him a giggle and slight squirm as he discovers a ticklish spot, down to curve over her hip bone (where he places a kiss, and gets a different squirm), and finally teases the curls between her legs. Steve slides his torso down so he can see; he is, after all, a very visual man.

He quickly looks up at Viola before he proceeds; she smiles and gives him a nod. One finger gently parts her folds, silky and wet and warm. His other hand comes to join, stroking her open further. His thumb gently glides up to the button he's heard about, and a deep sigh from his partner tells him he's dead on. He massages her slowly, matching the speed of her hips as she rocks them into his hand, his other hand moving downwards. One finger slips easily into her wet passage, Viola's hips moving faster, her hands skittering along the sheets as he moves it in and out.

This is incredible. She feels so soft, so warm, slippery with wetness (even Steve knows this is a good thing). She smells...indescribable... earthy... he's not sure how to catalog it, but he does lean his face in close to her, breathing in her arousal.

With his face so close he can't help but lean in for a taste, running his tongue from where one finger has switched to two sliding in and out of her, all the way up to her...clit. He takes his hand away and licks at her, circling his tongue around her spot. "Ohhh fuck, just like that." Viola's hips cant up to meet him, her roaming hands settling back into his hair. He smiles victoriously at the desperation he hears in her voice.

Now he wants to make her come. His fingers speed up their pace as they plunge into her heat. His tongue circles, flicks, and strokes over her as he listens to her cries. No words come forth now, just a series of breathy moans, each one pitched higher and higher as she climbs toward her orgasm.

Steve loves this feeling- the power that flows through him at being able to make her feel something so intense. His erection is trapped under him as he lies on the bed, but he has forgotten it, so lost is he in her body.

Steve lifts his head up, using his thumb again as he looks up at her. "Come for me, Viola. I want to watch you come." He presses down hard on her clit, curls his fingers inside of her, and watches as she explodes, muscles clenching his fingers and dousing him with wetness. Her eyes rolls back, mouth open, skin flushed, back arched. She cries out with such intensity. She is beautiful.

Slowly she comes back to herself, his hands gently ceasing their work. He crawls back up the bed to lie by her side. Examining the fingers that were buried deep inside her moments ago, he sticks them in his mouth and tastes them. Hmm. He searches for adequate words to describe her taste.

A groan interrupts his reverie. "Jesus, Steve, that was unbelievably hot. I can't even look at you doing that without wanting to jump you again."

He ducks his head and smiles. "I wouldn't be opposed to doing that again." He looks up at her, utterly debauched, and leans in for a gentle kiss.

Except, of course, the gentle kiss deepens into something else, and as he closes the space between their bodies, both of their attentions are drawn to his cock, still hard between them.

Viola looks down and then back up at him, shocked. "You're hard again! Umm...supersoldier powers in the bedroom? Is it always like this?"

Hmm. Erections are not yet something Steve can discuss with Viola without blushing. "I dunno, really. Just...touching you was really...so..." that's all he manages to convey.

It seems to be enough, though, because she smiles, rolling her eyes. "Of course you're perfect in every way." She looks at him. "God, I wanna fuck you so bad." Well, his erection isn't going anywhere soon. He tries to look away, but her serious gaze pierces him. "You're not ready for that, though." She looks him over. "Nope, not yet. We'll talk about that later. For now, how do you feel about more of the same?" Her playful smile is back.

Half an hour later Viola has coaxed him into sharing a shower ("I'm taking advantage of bathing while I can, you should too...see how this works?"). As they dry off, she suddenly gasps and smacks Steve's chest. "Hey! What was that for?" He gripes. Not that it hurt, but still...it was the principle of the thing.

"We didn't have the sex talk! We just had unprotected sex, and I bet you don't even have condoms here, but you should never have unprotected sex with someone!" She seems genuinely peeved.

"I'm...sorry? I get that there are lots of scary diseases out there, but you know I can't get any of them, right? You'll be fine." He tentatively places his hands on her sides.

She looks up at him exasperatedly. "Yeah, great, but sooo not the point. You should always use a condom, and talk with your partner, before the bodily fluid exchange. The next time you have sex, promise me you'll use a condom."

Something in his chest deflates a little. "You say that like it won't be you with me the next time I have sex." He fumbles the words for a moment. "Um. Are you...not planning on being here?" Suddenly his mind makes leaps to ten different scenarios, all featuring Viola leaving never to be seen or heard from again.

"Oh. Well, I don't really want to assume...I dunno, that you're going to have me back over. Or that if you did, you'd want to do...that. I know it's not something you planned; you might regret it in the morning. Plus, aren't you all old timey religious and on the 'wait till marriage for sex' bandwagon?"

That dark pit in his chest relaxes somewhat when he realizes that she's as unsure of him as he is of her. "One, I reserve all religious discussions for the morning, since I know you'll never let it go once we start..." he smiles fondly at her. "Two, I still need your help painting the apartment. You backing out on me?"

Relief is clear on her face. "No way. You'll never do it right if I'm not here to fix things."

"Good. Now that that's settled, come to bed."

They lie, entwined with each other, Viola wearing Steve's clothes for pajamas. He suspects he'll be sleeping well tonight.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: hi there! You guys make my day, seeing the faves and follows and reviews. So thanks for that!

Ok. So. Here's the next chapter- no smut, but plenty of it to come as the story moves on.

Song I.d. is at the bottom. If you want something to listen to as you read, I recommend Tigerlily by La Roux. It was going through my head the whole time I wrote this.

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Steve wakes in the morning gently, gradually coming to himself. He starts to stretch, and realizes that he's still entwined with Viola as they were when they fell asleep. And, looking at the sun peeking into the room from behind the curtains, they've been asleep for hours.

Stunned, Steve stills his body so as not to wake her up. He can't quite believe that having a warm (soft, sweet smelling) body wrapped in his arms kept him from having nightmares. He thinks back to when he and Bucky used to share a bed. He slept so easily back then...his body was so different, his mind less troubled...but he newly remembers the comfort of having a bedmate. Oh, Bucky. You are desperately missed.

He glances down at Viola, still asleep. It's likely she'll want a few more hours of sleep, and he tries not to wake her, but he can't help gazing down at her sleeping form. Her curls snake wildly in all directions from her head, but her face is serene and restful.

Steve inches his arm out from under her, gently tucking the light blanket around her as his body retreats. He watches as she shifts momentarily, then settles. Quiet as he can, he grabs running clothes, closes his door, and heads down the hall.

Out onto the street. He takes a different route for his run today, feeling unencumbered by the usual melancholy that follows him from his nightmares into waking. He revels in the early summer sun, not yet oppressive, enjoying the waves of light that greet him.

His thoughts drift to the night before. Viola was exquisite, and he is filled with gratitude for how she eased the way. He never felt pressured or put upon, and he guesses that not many women would have been so gentle or graceful about his...reluctance.

Well, now's the time to work all this out. What does he think about sex? Before the war he certainly knew where he stood. His mother's morals and his church had dictated that. Even back then, though, his opinion wasn't always the status quo- Bucky had certainly had no compunction about having sex before marriage. The war showed him a different side as well- so many men, so many good, God-fearing men, with wives back home, would go to the brothels in Europe. No one spoke of it as wrong, as breaking a commandment; the men all seemed to regard the behavior as fulfilling a need. Steve hadn't really felt to strongly on the subject; how could he when it didn't apply to his life?

Steve has spent enough time in this century to realize the scope of change. Sure, there are still people who believe in waiting until marriage to have sex, but he has seen society poke fun at them on more than one occasion. The Catholic church of this new era disappoints him, a little. He sees the way that people have changed, become whole and inclusive, and he revels in the equality that his own time lacked. The church seems to him to be more and more filled with hate and intolerance, as well as hypocrisy. He was shocked to discover that Purgatory no longer existed, and confused; if they could change such a basic tenant of what he knew growing up, did that strip the meaning from the rest of what he experienced growing up?

Times have definitely changed. He thinks back to a conversation he had with Viola a few weeks ago.

"Ugh, waiting until you're married to have sex is like the worst thing you could do to yourself!"

"Really? Why do you think so?"

"Oh don't get me started, I could rant for hours about this stuff." Their eyes met; Steve smiled.

"Rant away, then."

"Well. It pretty much comes down to this: you can't ask for what you want from a partner when you don't know what you want." She is in full lecture mode now. "You can't marry someone who's sexually compatible with you if you don't know what that looks like. I think that religion can sometimes give people the message that it's wrong to want sex to be anything other than...plain, normal." He watches her ponder for a moment. "There are always these scandals where good, upstanding religious men are caught cheating on their wives, and I feel like religion plays a role there. In teaching men that they should want virginal, chaste wives, and then that any desires they have other than lights-off, plain old missionary are wrong, it's setting these marriages up for failure."

Steve stares at her for a moment. He's not sure he understands. She seems to realize this.

"Okay. If you wait until marriage to have sex, you won't know that you...have a foot fetish. Or like to be spanked. Or want to dress in women's lingerie." His eyebrows must reach his hairline- Viola certainly laughs at whatever expression is plastered on his face. "So you marry someone, and maybe later you do figure out that something's missing, and maybe you figure out your fetish...but you'll never tell your wife, cause she's a good woman and you feel ashamed. So you never get what you want out of your marriage, and maybe you even sneak around trying to get it somewhere else. Either way, it's unhealthy."

At the time, Steve had been more concentrated on the mention of various...fetishes. He certainly wishes he had asked Viola about her own.

Sex. Outside of marriage. Casual sex...that was what it was called, right? Maybe his outlook on sex changed when he realized he wasn't very likely to get married; he didn't even know if he would age normally, and anyone he married would be in constant danger, so that left...Natasha as a possible wife. Right. No, marriage wasn't in the cards anytime soon, if ever.

So...sex? Steve is pretty sure that, as far as partners go, Viola is ideal. She doesn't want anything from him he isn't willing to give, and she's likely to give him a...tour, so to speak, of what sex can be like (it was she who described sex as a veritable smorgasbord of intimacy). He thinks that this wouldn't have been an issue if he hadn't been so sickly before the serum; surely he would have been married before the war.

Sigh. He feels less like this is a betrayal of his mother and her values, and more guilty that he's supposed to feel that way, and doesn't. It's not hard to remember his mother (and miss her), but it is hard to reconcile the memory of her with the world around him. Society is different, religions are different, women are certainly different. He doesn't have to ask himself What Would Bucky Do- he knows.

Steve heads towards Sam so he can pick him up and run their bit together. He prays that Sam asks no questions about beautiful brunettes currently sleeping in his apartment.

When Steve enters his apartment, he has to check for a moment that he's in the right one. Loud, strange music streams through the doorway and overwhelms him. He hesitantly follows the music to its source as a woman sings about people calling her by the wrong name. He peeks into the kitchen, and what he sees changes his mood instantly to happy.

Viola is there, his laptop open on a counter and blaring out music. Every other counter top is covered in pots and pans, food, flour. Viola stands in the middle of it all, mixing something at the stove, turning to knead what looks like bread, pulling plates from a cabinet, and dancing all the while. "That's not my name, that's not my name" she sings.

She moves with grace, but so quickly and efficiently that he sees her as the eye of a tornado, sweeping the food around in its path, all the while accompanied by, seriously, loud and strange music. She bounces around, shaking her hips to the beat, and her raw enthusiasm and joy make him laugh out loud.

Viola shrieks and turns, hand on her heart. "Jesus, Steve, you scared the crap outta me!"

He laughs harder, letting his face relax into a deep grin. "I'm not surprised you didn't hear me come in. Are you trying to deafen yourself with that music?"

She rolls her eyes, hands already back at work stirring, chopping, and kneading. "Pfft, whatever, old man." She grins back at him to show she's not really offended. "I've already ruined my hearing. Music is only great when it's so loud you can't hear anything else. Plus..." she moves her fingers and hands together in an Indecipherable pattern.

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Sign language, I presume?"

"You betcha. I'm all set if I ever go deaf."

"Smart ass. Where'd you learn to sign?"

Her smile fades. "Oh, it was a long time ago." Her response is too airy for the sad expression on her face. "Hey, I'm making breakfast! I hope you're hungry." She pastes a smile on her face, turning back to the food on the stove. "This should all be done in about ten minutes. Why don't you hop in the shower while we're waiting?"

Steve nods, heading towards the bathroom as, from his computer, a different woman yells about how much she loves rock n roll.

After Steve has recovered from the feast Viola laid out for them (not to say he didn't eat it- he needs a lot of food), he sits up a bit, ready to get to work.

"What's the painting plan? I'm guessing you have some ideas in mind."

Viola lights up with enthusiasm. "Today we sketch, plan, and tape. Tomorrow we start painting. It's going to take a few days to finish, though." She looks to Steve. He nods his approval. "I have an...idea for your bedroom that I'd like to explore. I figured you could do the living room?"

"I trust you." At his declaration, he watches her smile grow.

"Those two areas most need to be painted. I don't know if you want to do the spare bedroom or not, but I got enough paint for it."

That makes him think. He got a two bedroom apartment for a reason; he wants Bucky to have someplace to come home to. If he ever gets that far. If he ever wants to be found. Steve used to think that he did; now he's not so sure. Why else would he be in D.C. but not near Steve? He pushes his frustration down. Today he has an opportunity to do something to make himself happy, and maybe even Bucky. "I'd like to do the other bedroom. But I wouldn't mind your help with it."

Her smile is flirtatious. "I'm always glad to help." She says with a wink. "Okay, let's get going, then!"

They pull the furniture away from the walls, then wash them down. Viola sets Steve up in the living room with directions ("remember, you're going to look at this every day. Make it uplifting, ok?"), then retreats into the bedroom ("don't look, I want it to be a surprise!").

He stands still for a moment, staring at the wall. Not many parts of his life have been uplifting. His childhood in Brooklyn, Europe in the war, the battle of New York...all pretty dark. But as he ponders, he thinks of good moments: going to Coney Island with Bucky; the Commandos gathered round a fire, telling dirty jokes; shawarma with the Avengers. He knows what he wants on these walls.

He comes to himself a few hours later when his stomach rumbles. He's been so deeply entrenched in sketching out his ideas that he hadn't realized how much time had passed. Now he sees that it is lunch time, and as he steps back to see what he's done, he realizes he's covered almost all of the walls. Stunned, he takes a moment to shake himself out of his art coma.

As he lets the world back in, he hears (loud, of course) music coming from his bedroom. Viola is singing along to a woman's voice, electronic notes filling the background. He sneaks closer, knowing she doesn't want him to see (he doesn't even try to look, hand to God). He just wants to see if he can catch another glimpse of her, singing and dancing like this morning.

He inches the door open. There she is, leaning close to the wall, her hand moving in graceful arcs. She leans back to get some perspective, swaying her hips from side to side, her back arching sensually with each sway.

"I can see you burning with desire for a kiss..." she harmonizes with the woman singing.

Mindful of the surprise, he reaches into the room, grabs Viola's hand, and pulls her out into the hallway, flush with his body. It nearly resembles a dancer spinning his partner back to himself.

Although her surprise comes out in the form of an awkward yell as he grabs her hand, by the time they are standing face to face, she has regained her composure, a smile on her lips. She places her palms on his chest and continues dancing.

"Dance with me, Steve. I love this song!" She sways from side to side, pulling him along with her awkwardly, but she doesn't seem to notice as she picks the words back up again.

He stands there, allowing her to sway him, resting his hands on her hips as the undulate. He has no idea how people dance in this century; how can he have lived here for two years and not ever gone somewhere where people were dancing?

"I don't know how to dance like this. You'll have to teach me."

Still dancing, she laughs up at him, eyes shining. "Do whatever you want! That's the fun part. You just move to the beat, any way you want. No one's watching."

Well. He is nothing if not a capable improviser (skills on a battlefield translate to the rest of life, right?). He steps from side to side, getting a feel for the beat. As he starts to move, Viola steps back, twirling herself around unself-consciously. Her eyes are closed as she moves, mouthing the words. "I can see you burning with desire for a kiss..." she sings the chorus again. Her eyes snap open as the song winds down to its end.

"The point of dancing is to have fun, Muscles. Let go, move around, enjoy the music, be silly!" She says with a grin. "No one here but us, and I won't judge." The next song comes on, and she oohs in approval, moving her body faster this time.

"Fuck and kiss you both at the same time..." she sings with a wink in Steve's direction. He steps to the beat of the song, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at her. He wraps a hand around her waist and spins the two of them in a circle. A man sings about wanting to kill his lover as a banjo plays in the background.

"This is some strange music you're listening to, you know that?" Their faces are close as they move and sway and spin to the beat.

"Pfft. This stuff is awesome. Just because it's not Big Band...okay, you probably would need some context for this particular band." She goes from playfully dismissive to thoughtful. "Actually, has anyone caught you up on the music you missed while you were..." she breaks off. It's obvious she doesn't know what happened to him. He can't blame her for not keeping up with what the media has said about him since his return.

"Frozen in ice." He helpfully supplies.

She looks impressed at that. "Okay. Has anyone caught you up on music since you did a bad impression of an ice cube?"

He must never introduce her to Tony- the 'Capsicle' jokes would only multiply. "Clint and Tony gave me some recommendations, but since I moved down here, well..."

She nods. "Yeah, I imagine it's not as fun without someone to talk to about what you're listening to." She perks up. "Great! That means I get to educate you."

If ever Viola could have an 'evil mastermind' face, that was it. Steve isn't at all sure what he is agreeing to, but thinks it will be fun as long as he's with Viola. He picks her up and whirls her through the air, her head back, reveling in the feeling. On his computer someone is still singing about ways to kill his lover, and Steve laughs as he sets her back down, close this time. He pushes the curls back from her face.

"You're something else, you know that?" He says affectionately. Before she can answer, he uses the hand in her hair to tilt her head up, capturing her soft lips with his own. A moment passes in breaths and the movement of mouth against mouth. He pulls back, finding her eyes with his own.

"C'mon, it's my turn to fix a meal, and I'm hungry." Wrapping a hand around her waist, he leads her into the kitchen.

The evening had started out with both artists being satisfied by their labors for the day. Viola had stepped out to bring a meal to the same friend as yesterday, homeless and having a hard time. Steve urged her to bring the man food from his pantry; he remembered being hungry all of the time, and it made him feel good to help someone else. Idly he wonders how crazy it would be to volunteer at a soup kitchen or homeless shelter. Would he be putting innocent people in danger?

He tries not to think too hard of the argument he had with Viola before she left. He had assumed, apparently, that she would stay at his apartment for a while ("see you when you get back" are the actual words that set things off). She was, apparently, perfectly capable of taking care of herself and didn't need his charity (and he knows that, he does). Steve can't say that there's nothing to her accusation that he wants to make the hardships in her life go away; that much is true. He has money, plenty of it, and he could help her.

But honestly, that's not what he had been thinking about when he wanted her to stay. He had been thinking of painting, and kissing, and the way he slept so soundly (and maybe about sex). He just wanted more of Viola. Of course, that thought got all jumbled when he tried to get it out, and only made things worse.

Steve finds himself, hypocritically, cursing someone else for their pride and stubbornness. He knows firsthand how important it is to be able to take care of yourself, especially when times are hard. The idea of being coddled or pandered to, well...

Ugh. In this way they are apparently too much alike. She had left, thankfully before Steve could further stick his foot in his mouth by telling her that he wants her to stay so they can have sex. Even he (eventually) realized how much that sounded like prostitution in exchange for a place to stay. Still, she had left, and he really didn't know if she was coming back. She probably was. Maybe.

Steve settles down on the couch with his computer and googles the musicians Viola was playing earlier on...Pandora. First he figures out what that is. Then he watches some videos on YouTube. It does not help him think of this music as normal. Oh well. It gives him (potentially) some insight into popular culture.

After Steve has clicked around the Internet from one site to another until he is reading some news article he doesn't really care about, he (finally!) hears Viola coming in the door.

He doesn't want to startle her, so he sort of freezes instead. She takes her shoes off and puts her bag down, eventually looking up at him. He hates the blank look he sees on her face. Closing the laptop, he stands, smiling rather awkwardly at her, too nervous himself to put her at ease.

"Hey." Oh goody, more awkward.

"Hey, Steve." She sighs.

"Is your friend alright?" He knows he is stalling.

"Eh. Same as ever, which isn't very good. Poor guy just sits there, doesn't talk or move much. I'd get him some help if I thought he wouldn't run. Still, at least he's eating. That's something."

Steve is reminded that a lot of people (like Bucky) have actual problems to deal with. He isn't afraid of much, and a conversation isn't on that list (ice and losing Bucky again might be). "I just wanted to clear things up, a bit. I promise you can say whatever you want or get mad or leave, but hear me out first." He looks unflinchingly into her eyes; she nods.

He takes a deep breath. "Ok. I've been thinking about this since you left, and what I don't think I conveyed to you was...you're the prize." She looks at him quizzically, so he rushes to finish the thought. "I get that you want to take care of yourself, and you can't pay me back for staying here. But I owe you." Now her eyebrows are sky high. He smiles. "You don't get it, do you? I'm sorry I'm not explaining this right.

"I wasn't happy, when I met you." Now as he speaks he's deep in thought. "You came into my life and woke me up, got me to be a human being again, and I owe you for that. Because I'm happy, now. When you leave, I'll be okay because I'm happy now, and I wasn't before, so I owe you." He smiles up at her as he pauses; he's not altogether sure what the expression on her face means.

"Okay. Like I said, I'm just trying to pay back my debt by making life a little easier for you -not that you need it!" He hastily equivocates. "-but mostly I'd like you around to spend time with. So. I have an idea. What do you say you go ahead and keep that key I gave you. I know you're not going to stay in town forever," he smiles at her with a hint of sadness, "but if you have the key, you can stop by whenever you're here. And I'll be happy 'cause I get to see you. Whaddya think?"

He looks at her, for once staying silent and still and letting Viola come to her own conclusions. She looks at him. Her face is still, pensive, sad, nostalgic by turns. She takes a breath in, life flowing across her features as she slowly walks to Steve.

"You know what? I'm a jerk. I shouldn't have let my issues get me so far into crazyville, and I'm sorry for that. I love your idea. I feel honored that you'd give me a key permanently, and I'm definitely taking you up on the offer."

Her arms slowly slip around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug that he enthusiastically returns. Satisfied, he breathes a sigh of relief, resting his head on her shoulder. If he happens to turn face into her neck for a few kisses, well...no one's the wiser.

* * *

Ok. Songs in order:

The Ting Tings- that's not my name

Joan Jett- I love rock n roll

La Roux- tigerlily

Scissor Sisters- I can't decide.

Thanks for reading, please review!


	8. Chapter 8 part 1

A/N: hello! Thank you so much for the faves, follows, anad reviews. I had to split this one up, it's massive. But I really like it. I hope you do, too. Um. I added a new POV in, so tell me if it worked! If not, I'll drop it.

Enjoy!

Steve and Viola are lying on his bed, basking in the endorphins gained going down on each other. Viola stretches luxuriously, turning on her side to face Steve, a satisfied smile on her face.

"So...it's funny timing, you giving me a key." She says, still blissed out and cuddly.

He quirks an eyebrow at her, silently signaling for her to continue as he turns to face her, hand supporting his head. She hesitates for a moment, but Steve knows Viola well enough to know that she's not afraid of saying what's on her mind.

"It's funny because I've got work lined up on Monday, up in Vermont. So, you know, I won't see you for a few weeks, but now, I could come back." She smiles, seemingly happy about the prospect, and a little lost in thought. He imagines it's a novel idea for her, to have some sort of anchor.

Steve tries to distract himself from the disappointment that surges through his chest at the thought of her leaving. "What will you be doing up in Vermont?"

She waves her hand airily. "Oh, you know, summer camp."

This is not what he expected at all, and Viola laughs at the surprise plastered across his face. "Wilderness summer camp, to be more specific." He still looks at her blankly.

"You know, I start riding trains, end up some weird places, sometimes in the middle of nowhere, and I realize how much I don't know about surviving. So I start learning, pick up some tricks, and eventually I realize there are all these nature schools, all over the country, teaching kids this shit. So I found one willing to pay me under the table, got a job as a camp counselor," she makes a silly face at him, "and I learn new skills and get paid a little. Now I'm really good, I can run a whole camp by myself, they still pay me under the table, it's a sweet set up."

Steve is still pondering, but she obviously expects some kind of response, so he says "wow, I didn't know that camps like that were...a thing."

She nods. "Yeah, definitely not the world I grew up in, either." He perks up a little at another mention of her past. "But these kids are really cool. And it's a ton of fun, getting all covered in mud and stalking each other through the woods." The grin on her face is irrepressible; disappointed as he is that she won't tell him more about her history, he loves to see something make her so happy.

"Well then, you'll have to show me sometime."

"You bet your ass I will. It's a plan." She winks.

Viola runs her fingers through Steve's hair, commenting on its softness. He closes his eyes, basking in the contact, feeling her body heat next to him, smelling her floral scent.

He has always known she wouldn't stay forever. He has, but it still hurts a little, wishing that she wanted to stay with him. He comforts himself with the hope (he won't say it's a certainty, not until it happens) that she will return.

Eventually he curls her in his arms, wrapping them tightly together, his face buried in her hair, making the most of the time he has left.

These are the things that Steve does while Viola is gone:

He runs. Sometimes he runs with Sam, sometimes by himself. On days he misses her, he runs through the park and by the grove of trees that will, in his mind, forever belong to her. He runs new routes as well, trying to see things through her eyes, wondering what she would say. He notices people more, nods at the men and women he sees every day, greets them with a 'good morning'.

He remembers this from his youth; knowing everyone in the neighborhood, knowing everyone's business. All of those people he knew are dead now, but he is still here. He is ashamed at the idea of a Steve Rogers so closed off from the world that he doesn't know who lives around him. Society has changed, and he certainly was injured, depressed, and distracted by Bucky, but Steve won't give up on the things that he knows. Even if it's saying hello to the shopkeeper next door to his building.

He goes to the VA with Sam, and he goes to group. He sits and listens, for the most part, wanting to know what war is like today (or for someone not gifted with a serum in his veins). He is astounded by the bravery of the people surrounding him. He marvels at Sam's skill in comforting the men and women around him, in coaxing the traumatized soldier to speak a few words, in creating a safe space for them to talk.

He doesn't speak much, but he does one day, after a brutal night of nightmares about Bucky and falling and cold water.

"I forget, sometimes, that I died. Obviously it didn't stick, but...I know what it feels like to die." He stares at his feet for a moment. "Isn't that supposed to change a person? You're supposed to learn a valuable lesson on what life is, and live your life to the fullest, or do the things you were afraid to do before. I haven't done any of that. I haven't really lived at all since I woke up." He can barely push those last words out, as if hearing them spoken will break him in some way. Fuck.

He is silent for a moment, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

"I'm not sure what lesson I was supposed to learn, or why I'm still here. I thought I was supposed to fight, to save people, but now I just don't know anymore. I got a second chance at life, and sometimes I think that 20-year-old me would kick my ass for wasting it." There is more to say, more words that are running through his head, but it is enough for now.

After group two men and a woman take the time to quietly come up to Steve and thank him for his words. Sam, too, quietly and soberly approaches him to thank him. "I know your circumstances were pretty different than these guys, and you've gone through a lot, but some of them really needed to hear what you just said. You may be the only one trapped in ice for seventy years, but a lot of them feel exactly the same as you."

Steve nods, not yet ready to speak, but still feeling as if finally some of the darkness inside is dissipating.

Steve volunteers at soup kitchens and homeless shelters, battered women shelters and the like. He worries that his presence might bring the press now that SHIELD's files are out there in cyberspace, so he moves from one place to the next, always keeping a low profile. He won't let fear keep him from doing what is right, and he finally has the time, the money, and the health to help others out the way he has always wanted to. Some days he is overwhelmed by the sheer impossibility of helping all those in need; some days he finally feels like he's accomplishing something good in a way he never felt working for SHIELD.

He looks for Bucky, always, because he can't not look, but he knows in his heart that these places are far too vulnerable for the Winter Soldier. He sees Bucky's face the way it was in the footage at the Smithsonian; covered by a beard, a little gaunt. He sees Bucky in every person he meets.

He looks for Bucky; Sam and he check the police logs for anything that might be him. Break-ins, petty thefts, fights...larger crimes...Steve can't help but hope that Bucky is still around. That his coming back, showing up at the Smithsonian, meant something. They have no international spy organization to rely upon for intel anymore, but Fury is the keeping Hydra on the run, and for that Steve is grateful. They can't be trying to capture Bucky when they're running for their lives.

Steve also reads: books on PTSD, for himself and for Bucky; books about art, for himself; books to teach himself Russian; he reads Bucky's file again and again and this time looks up every victim. He wants to see their faces, imagines that these are people he has killed. Imagines how it feels. He reads books on brainwashing and becomes frustrated quickly. None of the books say what happens to someone brainwashed and frozen and tortured over seventy years, but the outcome doesn't seem positive.

He plans, a million times in his head, what he will say to Bucky when he finds him. Nothing is ever quite right. Everything sounds contrived, or insensitive, or stupid. But every night before he falls asleep he lays in bed, lights off, and talks to Bucky.

He takes food to Viola's friend while she is away. He is always happy to keep someone else from starving (he remembers not having enough to eat too vividly), and it reminds him of her.

He walks into an abandoned warehouse, making sure to make noise as he walks so he doesn't surprise the man. He makes his selections carefully; some fresh fruit, more nonperishable items, a few treats, some toiletries, matches, etc. As he enters the darkened building, he can feel the presence of another person. Actually, he can smell the man, unwashed as he must be.

Tempted as he is to see this person, offer him help, he does just as Viola has instructed. He leaves the food in the place she had described, slowly leaving the way he came. He hopes that, once the man gets used to seeing a new face, he will show himself.

He draws. He paints. He even designs some pieces of graffiti (though he doesn't put them up, just lays them aside to show Viola when she comes back). He draws, for the first time, Bucky's face as the Winter Soldier. He draws the cold, dead eyes, the still, blank mouth, the unwashed hair. He draws the metal arm, complex and deadly. He sees in his mind, over and over, his best friend saying "who the hell's Bucky."

He draws Bucky until he looks at what he has drawn and wants to punch through a wall.

Then he goes and trains, with Sam and, when she finally returns, with Natasha. He trains until he's too exhausted to think about anything anymore.

Before she leaves, Steve and Viola paint in a mad rush to finish decorating their respective rooms.

Steve finishes first. The South wall of his living room shows the streets of Brooklyn, hazy and indistinct but alive with activity. The West wall shows Europe. It's probably an amalgamation of a million different countrysides he saw during the war, but it makes him think of the Commandos sitting around a fire together. The North wall shows a shawarma restaurant, wrecked but still standing, bringing to mind trust and cooperation and laughter. He stands in the center of it all, sweaty and covered in paint, and feels victorious.

He heads to his bedroom, knocking loudly on the closed door. He can hear Viola on the other side, singing "I could be brown, I could be blue, I could be violet sky..." As he knocks again, he can hear her scramble over to the door, ineffectually trying to keep the door closed against him. "I'm not done yet!" She shrieks.

"Then quit dancing and get painting. I wanna see my room already!" He jokes, smilingly.

"Fine, fine. I'm really close. Go take a shower or order dinner or cook dinner or something so I can finish."

"I'm going. Now hurry up!" He chuckles as he hears her back away from the door.

One shower and a call to House of India later, Steve is surreptitiously listening at the door (again). No music emanates from the room this time; instead he hears Viola talking to herself as she paints. Grinning from ear to ear, Steve knocks again, eager to hear her squeaks of outrage at art being constrained by mundane things like time.

Instead, she opens the door and steps out, cutely speckled in paint, her hair an explosion on the top of her head. She sighs. "I think I'll start fucking it up if I keep at it, so I might as well call it done."

Steve looks at her, concerned. "You know I'm joking, right? You don't have to finish now. You can have all night, we're sleeping in the other bedroom anyway."

Viola squints at him, contemplating. She deflates a little. "No," she replies, "it's done. I just...want it to be exactly what's in my head, you know? Even if that's not realistic."

Steve nods understandingly. "I'll help you stop your crazy cycle of perfectionism, never fear." He picks her up by the armpits, moving her out of the way, and slides inside the room before she can stop him, her hands pulling on his wrist a second too late.

As he stands in the center to get a good look, Viola chases after him. "Let me explain how it's supposed to be..." Steve pulls her to his chest, clapping a hand over her mouth and shushing her. She squirms for a moment, then relaxes into his arms.

He looks, quietly, turning to see every bit. It is perfect.

From here, he feels like he is sitting on a bench in a park. The walls are filled with children running, women talking, old men playing chess. Pigeons and squirrels, songbirds and butterflies dart in and out of trees and grass. The sun peeks down through trees, spreading dappled sunlight over all. Buildings float over the trees in the distance, and Steve feels Brooklyn in every brushstroke, so real he can taste it and hear it.

She has even painted the ceiling. The perfect light blue of a hot summer day shines down on him.

Steve is struck hard by how badly he wants to show this to Bucky. And, simultaneously, how badly he wants this to be his haven, hidden from everyone else. He is hit with a wave of nostalgia so hard he flinches, hugging Viola harder. He knows she must be impatient by now to know what he thinks, but he doesn't want to stop looking. Instead, he kisses the crown of her head, her temple, her ear. He turns her in his arms, pulling her into a proper hug, resting his head on top of hers.

They stay like this for a long moment, breathing deeply and holding each other as Steve takes in the details of her work.

They both jump when the door buzzer goes off. "Right. Dinner's here." He mutters, extricating himself from her grasp to let the delivery person up.

Eventually they sit, cross-legged on the floor, and tell each other everything they love about the other's work.

She hops a train the next morning.

These are the things they do the first time Viola comes back:

All of the things he did while she was gone. He runs, volunteers, learns Russian (Viola enthusiastically joins him), and draws. He even goes with her to deliver food to her friend; the man still won't come out of hiding while Steve is there.

Viola laughs when Steve suggests joining him on his run, and stands them both up so she can demonstrate just how much longer his leg is than hers. But when she tags along with him when he goes to spar with Sam, she doesn't laugh at his idea of teaching her how to fight.

Okay, that idea might have been motivated by the fact that, not knowing if or when she might return, Viola scared the bejezus out of Steve crawling into his bed in the middle of the night. Steve was able to avoid hurting her (barely), but it only got him thinking about her being in dangerous situations, far away where he couldn't help. He pictures her accosted by men twice her size, unable to get away.

So Sam and Steve teach her the basics, setting her up at a punching bag while they spar. She likes it so much that she makes sure to come with him from then on. She watches the men spar, cheerfully encouraging Steve to kick Sam's ass, then bantering with Sam when he accuses her of favoritism.

They head out of the city, Viola wanting to day hike the Appalachian Trail. Steve is surprised at how easily she keeps pace with him, climbing up a steep mountainside. She moves quietly, her usual banter or commentary or songs given over to a peace that he can see radiates bone deep. When they reach the top they lie, basking in the sunlight. A few kisses may be exchanged.

Suddenly Viola sits up, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Wanna play a game?" She stares intensely into his eyes, as if willing him to say yes.

"What kind of game?" He replies, honestly curious (and always a little bit suspicious).

She smiles. Steve can't help but think of The Grinch. Plotting. "Hide and go seek. You give me ten minutes, no peeking and no listening, then try to find me."

"Ten minutes? You could be halfway down the mountain by then."

She rolls her eyes at his blatant exaggeration. "I don't cheat! I promise to hide on the mountain top. You just give me the time I need." Her poker face is disturbingly good.

Steve can't help but feel as if he's being fleeced. He can't see how, though. He has super senses after all, and he's an experienced soldier. He shrugs. "Okay, you're on. Ten minutes."

Viola walks over to him, a big smile on her face, and strips out of her long sleeved shirt so that she can tie it around Steve's head. He momentarily mourns the sight of her body in only a tight tank top, but the shirt smells deliciously of her, and he finds he doesn't mind at all. He feels her take his phone from his pocket and, after a few seconds, place it in his hands. He settles down to wait.

Ten minutes later his phone is buzzing in his hands and he is impatiently pulling off his makeshift blindfold. He stands, stretches, allows his eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight. He starts looking around, not wanting to ruin the game by finding her too quickly.

Okay, scratch finding her too quickly. It's been half an hour, and there's no sign of her at all. He has checked in trees, and behind rocks and in bushes and every place he would choose to hide. He is torn between worrying that something happened to her and thinking that she cheated and she's not on the mountain top at all. That's it. He gives up.

"All right, Viola. Come on out. You win, I can't find you." He shouts into the trees. He steps back, turning in a circle so he can see where she hid. If she's there at all.

He hears a giggle.

Over by a tall pine, there's a pile of rocks and debris. He walks closer, looking for her. Suddenly, he sees the whites of her eyes.

Viola is looking right at him. Covered in mud, leaves, and dirt. Disguised as part of the pile. He laughs in relief and appreciation (and maybe guilt for thinking she might cheat). She stands, shaking sticks, leaves and dirt off of herself as he nears her.

"Okay. I'm impressed. I'm really impressed, actually. Don't tell Sam how bad you beat me, he'll never shut up about it." He grins at her.

Viola bows jokingly. "Why thank you, Steve. Now come give me a big hug!" She chases him, shuffling like a zombie and threatening him with the world's muddiest embrace. They both laugh as he backs away. He could easily outrun her, of course, but he'd much rather let her catch him.

"Oh, what the hell." He exclaims, and turns toward her, allowing her filthy arms to rub their dirt onto him as they wrap around his neck. Cold, slimy mud on his skin makes him shiver. He smiles down at Viola, her face tilted up to him with a matching smile.

"Super soldier or not, I totally kicked your ass this time." She grins. "Remember that. I know you worry about me, traveling around all by my lonesome," she affects a southern drawl. He huffs a laugh. Her eyes turn serious. "Seriously, though. I'm not super powered and I can't fight..."

"yet." He interjects with a nod.

"...yet. But you don't need to worry about me. I really can take care of myself."

The message is clear. Steve takes a moment to look at her, face grave, brown eyes focused on him. "You're right. I care about you, so I worry, but truthfully I know that you can take care of yourself."

Her smile is deep and relaxed. She stretches up onto her tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

"C'mon, let's go wash the mud off." She exclaims, pulling him down the mountain.

As he watches her splash into into the first stream they come across, stripping off her clothes and laughing in delight, he thinks that he might love her.

Later that night he gets Viola out of her clothes and lays her down on the bed, holding her wrists while he kisses every inch of her body he can reach. He loves hearing the different sounds she makes, the sighs, the moans, the swears that slip out of her mouth when she is overcome by the sensations he gives her. He loves her soft skin, her lush curves, the way she squirms and writhes but doesn't try to break his grip.

As he settles back over her, hips aligned, mouth plundering hers, he thinks how easy it would be to slip inside her from here. His cock positively aches at the thought of being buried deep inside of the woman beneath him. He can't help but grind himself down on her to relieve some tension. So close to her warm, wet heat...

Oh god. He has to stop before...

Wait. He doesn't have to stop at all. Steve is the one that is waiting until he's ready (Viola has made plenty clear how ready she is for sex with Steve). Is he ready?

He must have stopped moving, because Viola is saying something.

"Sorry, what?"

She looks curious. "Where'd you go, babe?"

Well, now's the time to talk about this. "Honestly, I was wondering if I'm ready for sex."

She groans, pushing her hips up to meet his. She obviously approves of the idea. "Mmm. Steve, I can't answer that question for you. You tell me. You don't have to make a decision tonight, you know."

He smiles, leaning down to press kisses along her jaw. He's not going to overthink this. "Okay. I'll tell you. I'm ready to have sex with you."

Viola pulls back (as much as she can with him pressing her into the bed), looking Steve in the eyes. They have a silent conversation as he bares his thoughts through his baby blues.

Her lips find his in a breathless kiss, and she pulls him closer. "Okay." Their hips grind together again. "It's your first time. Any thoughts on how you'd like to do this?"

His tongue darts into her mouth, rekindling the fire. "Mmm. How about exactly like this?" Now that he knows he is going to be inside her, heat and want travel up his spine.

He moves his hand to her breast, his head coming down to tease her nipple as her back arches. "Yes! God, don't stop... but yes, lets do it like this." He gently pulls at her nipple with his teeth, and words seem to leave her.

This is it. He is finally going to bury himself inside her. He groans. Hot desire runs through him, and he doesn't want to wait any longer. He can't wait any longer.

"Do we need a condom here?" He gasps as he kisses his way back up Viola's neck, finally sliding their tongues together with a hum.

It takes her a moment to detach enough to reply breathlessly. "We've already swapped germs, and I can't get pregnant, so we're good."

What? He files that away for later, when he's not so fucking turned on he might die. Instead he skims his hand down, over her hip and between her legs. She arches against him as he circles his thumb over her clit, reaching his fingers down to find her deliciously wet. She is ready, and she tells him as much.

Holy shit, is he really about to do this? He has a momentary feeling of detachment from reality. Then he looks up at Viola. She lies under him, hair going every which way, cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen from kissing. He leans down to kiss her and he takes himself in hand.

Viola tilts her hips up to his as his cock meets her body for the first time. He fumbles for a moment with the angle before sliding in deep. A gasp leaves his lips at the same time. Oh. Oh good Lord this feels like heaven. He tries hard not to slam into her again and again because all he can feel is silky heat wrapped around his dick and he never wants to leave.

"Steve."

His eyes must have closed at some point but now he opens them and looks down at the beautiful woman before him. As their eyes meet she smiles, tilting her lips up to kiss him even as her hips push up to meet his.

Movement. Movement is amazing. He pulls his hips back and pushes into her slowly with a groan. Yes. To his pleasure Viola groans too.

He has to make this good for her. He thrusts again, torn between wanting to watch her reactions and the delicious sensations flooding his body. Again. More.

Heat spirals up from the base of his spine with each thrust, and he angles himself inside her with minute adjustments until...there. She grabs his arms, gasping with pleasure, and he needs to keep doing that. He needs never to stop. He feels her everywhere, her skin against his, her body warm under and around his. This new way of fitting together leaves him breathless.

He knows he won't last. He can feel his orgasm building inside of him, but he wants Viola to come first. So he bites down on the sensitive spot on her neck before whispering in her ear. "Touch yourself."

She shudders as she snakes a hand between their bodies to circle her clit. His next thrust is harder, deeper, and...god. They rock together over and over, eyes meeting, mouths gasping for air, then meeting for sloppy, filthy kisses. This is so different than anything he's ever felt before.

He can't keep this up much longer. It feels too good. The movement of their hips speeds up, and he can feel Viola's legs tense where they are wrapped around his waist.

"Come for me, sweetheart." He says, taking her mouth in a deep kiss.

And she does. Her legs squeeze him closer, cries pour from her mouth, each one pitched higher than the last. The tension in her body reaches its height as her back arches, throat bared to him. Finally she falls, eyes rolling back in her head, her cries of release louder still as her body shudders.

Steve feels the tight heat surrounding his cock spasm around him, and it only takes one, two more thrusts before he is coming, pumping his release deep into Viola as pleasure overtakes his body.

He comes back to himself slowly, still buried deep inside of her. He realizes she has been running her fingers through his short hair, waiting for his brain to come back online. When he finally gathers the strength to lift his head and look down at her, she smiles up at him. "So. First time and all, what'd you think?"

With a smile and a groan, he rests his face in the crook of her neck. "Can we never leave this room ever again?" He kisses her neck where his lips have landed but is far too lazy to move to kiss her further.

Soft hands stroke up and down his back. Steve practically purrs. "Glad you liked it." Viola chuckles. "Too bad we need to get cleaned up."

Steve whines. "Nooooo. Staying here forever, remember?"

She lightly tickles his sides. "Come on, Captain Lazy. If you get up now I'll give you a blowjob in the shower."

Suddenly he's sitting. "Allright, shower it is."

They curl together after their shower, naked and happy and ridiculously cozy. Steve kisses Viola on the back of her neck.

"I love you." He whispers.

She stiffens. Turns to face him with a sad look on her face. "Fuck you, Steve."

He is astonished. "What? Why would you say that? I just told you I love you!"

Viola sits up, leaning back against the headboard. "You don't love me. You love the feeling you had when we had sex. It's ridiculously cliché of you to pull this shit, you know."

Steve follows Viola up, sitting facing her. "Bullshit. Okay, I'm not gonna say I don't love having sex with you- I really, really do. But that's not what this is about."

He wants to go on, but she cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder. "Stop right there. You don't know me that well, Steve. We haven't spent enough time together for either of us to say that. You have feelings for me, and that's awesome, I care about you as well. But let's not pretend we've bared our souls, here. We've got a lot to learn about each other before we get to love. Alright?"

She caresses his cheek with a smile, trying to appease him. He gets where she's coming from, he does. And he wants to tell her that nothing he could find out about her would change his mind...

But she's right. He's not as idealistic as he used to be. The good guys don't always come out on top in this new world.

"You're right." He smiles at her, trying to recapture the bliss he felt moments ago. "You're right."

Viola sees him, sees his sadness, and pulls him in for sweet, chaste, comforting kisses as they settle back down for sleep.

I remember. I spend days remembering and there is no room left for anything else. For every one tiny moment of Steve, of Brooklyn, of the Howling Commandos, there are ten filled with blood. Excruciating pain. Freezing cold. Unfeeling, unflinching blindness.

I no longer have the emotions to interpret these memories. I remember and I piece together what has happened to me, and that is all.

If there is food around, I eat. Drink. Pee. For the first week or two I exercised my body the way I was taught to do on a long term mission. Then I remembered more and now...I do nothing. I no longer follow their rules, but I have no new rules to follow. No mission. No goals. No future.

Each base I remembered I destroyed. No more, not ever again. They all died, every last person inside and every piece of equipment I recognized was destroyed.

I remember no new bases, now. There is nothing left to destroy, no one left to kill. Some days I contemplate killing myself. It would stop the memories. But then there is a good memory, and I wait for another.

I wonder when the good memories will run out and I will be left with nothing but pain. I will put a bullet in my brain then, when all the good is gone. I am patient.

I think sometimes of going to Steve. He would give me a purpose. A mission. But Steve wants James "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes, sharpshooter for the Howling Commandos and best friend for years.

I am not that. I no longer know how to be that. When I was on a mission they would sometimes have me act, pretend to be someone else. That was long ago, before masks and goggles. I don't know how to act anymore.

If I did I would become James "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes.

Instead I sit.

And remember.

Music- Mika, Grace Kelly

As always, thanks for reading! Please review!


	9. Chapter 8 part 2

A/N: hi! You guys rock with the reviews and faves and follows! Ok. So. I thought this was gonna be out earlier, but then birthday, and moving, and so...not early. We're moving the rest of our stuff tomorrow, and then going camping this week, so not sure about next update. I'm gonna try to keep it moving along though! Pivotal chapter. :) lemme know your thoughts!

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This is what Steve and Viola do the second time she comes back:

All of the things he does when she is gone. She decides to learn Russian with him, and it becomes a competition to see who can remember more. Viola of course makes things fun, which distracts Steve from the more sobering reasons that he is learning in the first place. He's not sure whether or not it's a good thing.

They have sex. Lots and lots of sex. Steve loves seeing Viola come undone, and he especially loves the closeness that overwhelms him when they join their bodies. He takes her in every room in the house, unable to stop long enough to make it to the bed. Plus, he is strong enough to hold her up any way he wants.

Pretty much all of the sex they have is amazing, for lots of different reasons. As Viola guides Steve through what she calls "the beginning stages of the All Kinds of Sex Tour," she encourages him to do whatever occurs to him in the moment. It has led to screaming orgasms at times, weirdness and giggles at others. He discovers that sucking on her toes is the worst sex torture (she can't decide if it's hot or if it tickles too much), that he is definitely an ass man (there is a joking conversation explaining what this is), and that shower sex is way more complicated than it sounds. The best part about it all is that Steve stops (okay, maybe not completely, but almost) feeling insecure and nervous about the subject of sex.

Viola introduces Steve to all the music he has missed. She goes chronologically, talking about the evolution of each genre over time, connecting the music to politics and society as history unfolds. She rolls her eyes when she sees how much he likes The Beach Boys, but he can tell she likes them, too, from the way she dances when they play. They both love Bob Marley.

Steve likes some of The Beatles' music, while other songs (like those about walruses) are a little too strange. This leads to a discussion about acid trips. They listen to the Rolling Stones; Viola loves 'Beast of Burden', but Steve likes 'Satisfaction'. They talk about the genesis of pop music.

Each musician is a history lesson, as they listen to Cat Stevens and Woodie Guthrie and talk about hippies. They spend a whole day on Bob Dylan. Disco leads into punk rock, then to the eighties, metal, hair metal, glam rock, and the origin of hip hop. Viola seems to like it all; or, if not all of it (disco), a fair section.

They talk about changes in lyrics; Steve gets a rude awakening with the Misfits' songs like Last Caress and Bullet ("seriously? JFK and the words 'masturbate me' in the same song?"). Viola waxes lyrical about CBGB, anarchy, and the punk scene, mourning that she was born too late. Steve just stares at her pointedly. The more she explains, though, the more he understands why she loves the kind of terrible music.

They tour through grunge, nineties pop ("Britney Spears" says Viola, "cannot be overlooked no matter how painful"), industrial, emo, techno, dubstep. She makes him give it all a fair chance, even though he can tell her right off the bat that music made on a computer isn't his favorite. He's pleasantly surprised at the range of music he can now say he likes. Viola likes country the least, but plays it anyway to show him that there's something to like in every genre.

Viola sets Steve up with a Pandora account, and makes stations based seemingly off of the faces he makes while they listen. She shows him how to upvote, and he spends days delving into different genres. He gets hooked on the lyrics of a band called Brand New, and listens to them when he draws.

They vandalize. Steve and Viola scheme and design together and come up with a set of images that they put up all around the city. This time the subject is the military. Steve comes up with the idea of a soldier, injured and wrapped in bandages, begging for change from indifferent passersby. Viola gets invested in one about women in the military- an image of a woman cradling a wounded soldier in her arms and bears the tagline 'good enough to die for her country, but not good enough to be an officer.' They throw endless ideas back and forth, Steve calling up all of the injustices and wrongs he has witnessed and putting them all on paper.

Steve honestly doesn't know what his favorite part is; maybe it's finding a subject he cares about deeply. It could be the ridiculous conversations he has with Viola as they wander the city to search for the perfect spot to place their art. Most likely it's the feeling that he gets from doing something illicit, in the middle of the night, giggling with Viola and feeling the freest he has felt since before the war.

As they race through the streets of D.C. in the middle of the night, Steve forgets about living in the future. He forgets about corrupt spy agencies. He forgets being shot by his brainwashed best friend, just for a second. He feels the heat of the night, warm summer breezes. He sees Viola's laughing face. He knows that there is no real enemy out in the darkness. He can exchange sloppy, breathless kisses with a curly haired vandal and let the rest of the world fall away, if only for a while.

Natasha and Viola meet.

The lovers are in the kitchen, Viola teaching Steve how to roll sushi while she makes her 'famous Mexican chocolate cake' for dessert; they are listening to Johnny Cash. There's a knock on the door, and Viola answers it, since Steve is thoroughly covered in sticky rice (he hadn't expected it to live up to its name so literally).

Viola waltzes to the door and whips it open dramatically, comes face to face with a deadly assassin, and without hesitation reaches her hand out in greeting. Steve watches with a hint of trepidation as they both look each other over.

"Hey. You must be the mysterious Natasha. I'm V, nice to meet you."

Steve can't see Viola's face, and all he gets from Nat is her usual blank stare as the redhead shakes hands. "V, is it? Nice to meet you. Although I can't say I've heard of you before. How did you meet Steve?" As she talks they both move into the apartment. Natasha makes unflinching eye contact with Steve and he knows he's in for an ass kicking later.

"Ohhh Muscles, you're in trouble!" The brunette jokes. "Hmm. How did we meet? Steve caught me committing misdemeanors in middle of the night." Viola jokingly wiggles her eyebrows. As she observes Natasha's unaffected gaze and haughtily raised eyebrow, she turns back to the kitchen and Steve. "Tough crowd. Somehow I don't think it's me she wants this story from, anyway. Why don't you two go chat, and I'll finish up the rolls?"

A glance at Nat shows her approval. Steve can only take so long making sure he washes every grain of rice off of his hands before he has to head into the living room with his friend. He reminds himself that he appreciates her, interrogations and intrusions and matchmaking and all.

They sit, and she takes a moment to look at the recently added art on the walls. Steve listens to Viola sing along with the radio in the other room; he is surprised to realize how much the sound relaxes him. Finally the spy turns back toward Steve. He's starting to wonder if her eyebrow is permanently stuck like that. Maybe it's just around him.

"Well. I got a bit of a report from Sam, but you've been holding out on me, Steve." He squirms uncomfortably in his seat. "What, you thought after all the trouble I went through to set you up with someone that I'd be mad you were dating somebody I didn't hand pick?"

"No." He assures her. "Nothing like that. I'm still not sure how to define what's happening here, and, to be honest, when I talk to you I've been pretty focused on Bucky. It wasn't on purpose, Nat."

She smiles. "Good. Then you can catch me up now." Her gaze tells him she's waiting.

He knows Natasha hates being in situations without intel, so he finds himself telling her everything. How they met, the graffiti, accidentally kidnapping her, painting and fun and...well. He doesn't mention the sex, but he doesn't think he has to. He does emphasize one point: he doesn't want to know her identity without her permission. He doesn't want a background check or anything else that will take her privacy away. Natasha nods in agreement. As much as she likes holding all the cards, he imagines she can empathize with Viola wanting to keep her past to herself.

So they sit and eat sushi together, the three of them. Viola doesn't aim for polite; she pushes right into the conversation, asking Natasha to help them with their Russian pronunciation, sharing their graffiti project. She's brutally honest and unapologetic about how she lives her life, and as dinner progresses into dessert, Steve can see Natasha relaxing. When Viola brings out her special chocolate cake, she has definitely won some favor. Natasha even gives Viola one small, approving smile.

As his friend is heading for the door, she pulls Steve aside. "I like her, I'll give you that." The spy tells him. "It's easy to see she's been good for you. You're happier, and lighter, than I think you've been since you woke up."

Steve smiles at her, but holds his tongue when she fixes him with a serious look. "But Steve, I tell you this with all the love in my heart, be careful." He starts the protest- he's not a child!- but she shushes him.

"I'm not joking around, Steve. You're getting attached to someone who, for whatever reasons, chooses not to have a home. I'm not judging, but there are reasons behind a decision like that, big reasons, and you need to remember that, because if you both keep going with this thing, one of you is going to get really hurt. Just think about it." She kisses him lightly on the cheek and slides out the door.

She doesn't mention anything the next day, for which Steve is eternally grateful. Natasha comes to spar with them, and upon learning what they are trying to show Viola, promptly takes over the other woman's education. She scolds them for trying to teach a small woman to fight like a man, and starts talking to Viola about Krav Maga. She emphasizes the 'kick them in the balls' concept enough to make both he and Sam wince, but he can tell the women are getting along when Nat promises to show Viola all of her best moves.

Steve is not embarrassed when he realizes Viola has led him into a sex shop. He is ...slightly uncomfortable with being around strangers and sex (toys? paraphernalia?) things at the same time, but Viola just drags him along with her, telling him that they need some good lube for what she has planned tonight, and that a store like this is just one part of his sexual education. He might groan a little bit, but he definitely doesn't whine.

Steve is curious, and turned on, and still uncomfortable. He knows that people speak openly about sex now, and that this is a fairly normal thing for an adult to do...but he feels like Captain America represents good morals and values, and even though he's not wearing the costume he feels kind of dirty. He knows he's a hypocrite, since this isn't breaking the law, while the graffiti is, but in his mind this seems...worse in some way. More degrading. He doesn't mention this to Viola, because he doesn't want a ten minute lecture on religion and shame and puritanical Americans.

Viola completely ignores his discomfort, leading him up and down each and every aisle in the store, explaining the items to him and watching his reaction. Seriously, she studies his face and he doesn't know what kind of reactions he's supposed to be having, but evidently she sees something there, because after the stare-downs she nods to herself and moves along.

They make their way from vibrators (Steve imagines Viola using one of these on herself, or better yet, him using one on her) to a variety of (some normal, some, frankly, disturbing) dildos. They move through cock rings ("totally unnecessary," says Viola, "when you can come as many times in a row as you do"), and into...a whole shelf of things that are placed up...the butt.

"Why would anyone use something like this?" Steve asks, brow furrowed. "I mean, I get the, um, dildos, but...why put something where it doesn't belong?"

"Well, mostly because it feels awesome..." at his skeptical look, she laughs. "No, seriously. Men or women, gay or straight, turns out a lot of people like stuff in their butt. You'll find that out later, though." She winks at him. He is not comforted by this promise. "Hey, if you ever want to be pegged, I'd be happy to oblige." She wiggles her eyebrows and leers suggestively. This time, he thinks she's teasing him. But he still has to ask (seriously? Women penetrating men is a thing?) which leads them over to strap ons. He moves them right along. Pegging is not happening any time soon, and he tells her so. She pouts cutely, which makes Steve want to kiss her lip, but moves on without protest.

This leads them into lots and lots of leather. Viola details the uses of the gags, collars, cuffs, whips, paddles, and more. Steve feels uncomfortable about these things.

"This all seems very...cruel." Viola smiles knowingly.

"It doesn't have to be. It's really about a relationship where one person has the trust to give up their control to the other person. It doesn't have to be about pain at all. I think a relationship that can achieve such a high level of trust is something to be desired."

Steve can't help but notice the familiar way Viola handles some of the equipment. He imagines her naked, bound on the bed- and yes, that thought definitely sends his half hard cock skyrocketing into full arousal, but the thought of whipping her...

No. He loves seeing her face contorted in pleasure, but pain isn't welcome in their bed. Not like that.

By the end of their trip, Steve's head is spinning with all of the possibilities that have been brought to light. And then when they get to his apartment, Viola grabs his hand and pulls him straight into the bedroom.

She runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and gazes deeply into his eyes. God, she is exquisite.

"Do you trust me, Steve?"

All of the weird, intimidating things he learned today aside, he knows he does. She has watched him carefully, never pushing past his comfort zone. He nods.

Viola reaches up to kiss Steve, and by the time his tongue has delved into her mouth, he has forgotten his nerves. She pushes him down onto the bed and straddles him. He likes where this is going.

Viola pulls his shirt off, and her own, so he runs his hands down her curves to rest on her hips, revelling in the feeling of skin touching skin. They spend a moment wrapped in a kiss, and Steve lets himself relax into it, his arousal growing strong enough that he grinds his hips up into her for some relief.

Curly hair cascades over onto his body as the woman kisses her way down his body, stopping to gently nibble his nipple (which sends a jolt of electricity right through him), to scrape her teeth over his hipbones. Steve helps her pull his pants and boxers off in one go, eager for her to continue. He can't help but thread his fingers through her hair as she starts swallowing his cock. Plus, he knows she likes it when he pulls her hair.

"Ahhhh" he hisses as she gets a rhythm going, hot and sloppy wet pleasure that makes his toes curl. Steve relaxes into the sensation, trying not to roll his hips up and choke her but too caught up in how good it feels to be completely still.

Then he feels wet pressure at his hole. He can't help but jerk and he's sure the sound that comes out of his mouth is ridiculous. Viola's mouth pops off his cock audibly.

"Trust me, remember?" Her grin is sexy and promises pleasure. "All you need to do is relax. Seriously."

Now that he knows what's going to happen he is definitely nervous. Still, he lies back on the bed, letting out a deep breath. He knows if he doesn't like it, she'll stop.

Steve definitely stops worrying about five seconds later when Viola takes his cock deeper in her throat than she's ever managed before. He can feel her swallowing, and "Jesus, fuck, ohhhh god. Holy shit that's good."

He feels pressure again but he's not really focused on anything but how fucking amazing what is going on around his dick is. There is humming happening now, and his attention is divided between not wanting to miss a second of the sheer pleasure he is feeling and not accidentally hurting her.

A finger slips inside him, and it feels weird and awkward like he wants it out but also sensitive and, for a second, really arousing. He stays still. Then the finger moves, in and back, twisting a little and hmm...sensitive is definitely a word. More movement, pushing deeper into him, and he feels a sharp spike of pleasure travel up his spine. "Ohhhhhwhoa." His breathing picks up a little.

The suction on his rock hard erection increases and she tongues the slit of his cock and holyshit now there are two fingers up inside of him. The fingers twist and scissor and thrust gently in an out of him and he can't help the whimpers or the fact that his hips buck.

He isn't really all that aware of what's happening, his mind buzzing with heat and sensation but he definitely notices when the fingers inside him change their angle.

"Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck oh shit do that again yessssss." He has never felt that sensation before in his life but God does he want to feel that again he is so fucking close to coming and he doesn't even care about what's happening to his prick he tilts his hips down onto her hand searching for that spot again "yesssss" yes there it is, again, again, again...

He is coming. He is coming harder than he has ever come in his life and his back is arching and he is yelling. He feels her swallow his cum down and his vision blacks out and maybe he stops breathing for a moment but honestly all he can feel is the flood of pleasure surging through his body.

Wow.

He waits for thought to return.

He breathes. It might qualify more as gasping.

He notices Viola resting her head on his thigh. He pulls her up next to him and kiss her forehead, petting her hair as he comes down from his orgasm.

"I definitely trust you now." Is what he pants, his face buried in her hair. It sets them both off laughing, giggling hysterically until their sides ache. Steve wipes tears from his eyes. He doesn't think he's ever felt this light.

"Oh God. Okay, okay." He laughs. "No, seriously, that was fucking great, I definitely want to do that again, I see why people do butt stuff now. More importantly, I really want to pay you back. So what can I do for you?" He questions.

Viola smiles, and Steve can't help but notice a glint of scheming in her eyes as they meet his. "I'm very glad you liked it, babe, and I'm happy to do it again. You've got all the makings of the world's hottest power bottom. As for what you can do for me..." she stretches luxuriously, drawing his attention away from the unfamiliar term, to her flat stomach and curvy ass, "this is what's gonna happen: you're gonna fuck me and make me come. Then you're gonna do to me what I just did to you until I'm ready and you can fuck my ass until I come again. Sound good?"

Steve is speechless. And hard again. He swallows and nods, pulling Viola under him to kiss her. The...taboo? Inherent wrongness? of anal sex certainly adds an element of desire for Steve. Even now, just imagining himself buried deep in her ass makes him shudder with want. He kisses her harder, eager to start.

Later he would think about that first time, the way Viola so kindly guided him through the steps of opening her up. He wondered if she knew, if she had in mind the idea of training him for other partners. He would recall her deep pleasure, and his, during the act, but he would still wonder.

This is what Steve Rogers has learned about Viola:

Not her last name.

He knows that she is as good or better than he is at making food stretch. Nothing goes bad in his kitchen while they are there together; she always cooks just what she needs, makes odds and ends into something new and delicious, pays close attention to what needs to be eaten before it goes bad.

She has all sorts of habits like this- saving water (a necessity when one is homeless, he's sure), saving electricity, making things for herself instead of buying them. People in this country for the most part have lost this skill, and Steve realizes how grateful he is that, instead of laughing at his thriftiness, she is right there alongside him.

She is twenty-seven years old. (This sparks a renewed desire, just for a moment, to look her up. The fact that SHIELD no longer exists to use as a resource helps, but he knows what a breach of trust a move like that would be. He's not willing to risk it.)

Steve discovers she is bisexual by accident; after a night spent sparring, Viola is thoroughly aroused. Steve takes her against the door to his apartment. As they lie in a half clothed, sweaty heap on the floor, he can't help but wonder aloud what sparked her passion.

"Oh God, Nat was pinning me to the mat all night making me practice breaking holds. It was so fucking hot, having her straddle me and hold me down, you don't even know...I'd let her fuck me in a heartbeat."

Steve is shocked for a moment; upon thinking, he realizes how easily this fact fits in line with the rest of her character. When he asks, she tells him that, really, she's pansexual- and proceeds to involve him in a lengthy education about sexual identity while they lie, still naked, on the floor.

Thinking about it later in bed, Steve is enthralled by the mental image he has concocted of naked Natasha (he's not attracted to her, but he's not blind, either, ok?), straddling a naked and writhing Viola. He's not all to sure what women get up to together, but that image alone is enough to fuel his masturbatory fantasies the whole time Viola is next away.

This is what Steve and Viola do the third (and last) time she returns:

Oh God.

It's so fucked up he really can't fathom it. That taking his attention away brought him closer. That this whole time...Steve will never let down his guard again. Except that letting his guard down is what brought this all about to begin with.

He wants to hate her, for distracting him, but he loves her for doing what he could not. He doesn't know anything anymore.

It all started when he showed her his newest sketches.

He was finally ready to tell her about Bucky, about their childhood and the war and the train, and then the brainwashing and the torture and the Winter Soldier and, now, the searching.

At the time he thought it meant something, that he was healing. That being able to talk about it meant progress. He forgot to think about what would happen if he ever found Bucky; because, of course, it's only progress if that's the end of the story.

Viola listens, still and patient and compassionate and perfect. So when Steve finishes, he gets out his sketchbook to show her the work he's done of Bucky as he looks now, hard and cold and inhuman.

He doesn't expect her to stiffen, fingers grasping the pages too tightly. She stands suddenly, grabbing her coat and pulling him out of the door without hesitation.

Halfway there he realizes, and starts running.

I never sleep. I know I must, but I cannot bring myself to do it. So I sit, awake, for hours and hours or days on days until my body cannot take more and everything goes black. Eventually nightmares wake me and I sit up to start the cycle over again.

So when I hear the sounds, I think I am waking up from another nightmare. Sleeping or waking, there is no relief from the horrors inside my mind. I struggle to sit up, only to find that I am already sitting.

Then I know that the sounds are real.

Someone is coming for me.

My mind smooths out to the blank place, and I know there are two coming for me. They are close. I am moving even as I listen, taking myself out of any lines of sight. Running means they're not pros. A breakdown of likely scenarios means that kids, homeless kids or troublemakers, want my building and are here to oust me.

I stutter out of the blank place just as quickly. Kids means no fighting, no killing. Means I have to get out before they find me and press the issue.

I gather up food and water from what's around me. Oh. The girl. The girl who brings this to me, will she bring more? Will she be hurt by whoever stays here next? Sometimes I imagine that it is Steve who comes to bring me things. But he never stays, because he wants Bucky and I am not that. My head tells me that he comes, waiting for the right person to inhabit this body, and leaves disappointed every time. But I know none of it is real.

How long have I been standing here? I have to move before I do something bad. The footsteps are getting closer. Then they stop.

There are two ways out, so I turn toward the back, slipping through the shadows as my mind seesaws. Winter soldier. Broken mess. Back and forth, trying to get myself out and keep from killing anyone else at the same time. I run a fist through my hair and pull, hoping a jolt of pain will clear my mind.

But it's too late. I can feel someone else in the room.

"I'm sorry" I mutter. I don't know what will happen now. It's not likely to be good.

Time won't fix anything. So I look up. But I'm seeing Steve again. Did I imagine all those sounds?

I sit with a sigh, resting my head against the wall. My delusions are growing; usually Steve has left by now, disappointed once again. I close my eyes. Wait for it to go away.

"Bucky?" My mind is good. That sounds exactly like him. I open an eye to peek. He's still there, of course. Do I talk with my own delusions? What would I say?

"Steve." It barely comes out. It has been months since I last talked, besides the screaming I do when I sleep.

But then I notice something real. The girl who brings me food is here.

Shit. Usually I hide. I can't hide now. And what am I seeing? Hallucinating Steve but seeing the food girl right next to him? Focus. Focus on what? Do I say something to the girl?

"You bring me food sometimes." Almost as hard to talk the second time around. Focus.

The girl nods. "Yes, I do. And Steve does too. But we'd like to bring you somewhere we can help you all the time. Does that sound good?" Her voice is calm, kind but normal. Not like she's talking to a crazy person.

I am supposed to say something now. She asked me something. She mentioned Steve. Am I talking with my hallucinations again?

The food girl and Steve exchange a look. I probably said that aloud. Steve is the one to talk this time. "We're real, Bucky. You're not hallucinating us. We are really here and we want to take you home with us. Can I come close? You can touch my hand and feel that I'm real."

"No. I might hurt you. Why are you still here? Usually you leave when you see I'm not Bucky." My head hurts and I haven't talked in months and I don't know if what is happening is real. How do I know what is real? I should have killed myself already. Maybe I'm already dead. Maybe this is hell.

I feel something touch my hand and I swing before I know that it happened. Steve just steps back. I don't move to hit him. I don't want to hurt him. What just happened? I look at my hand.

His hand comes slowly towards mine so I can see it this time. I stay still. Let it come closer. Then his fingers touch mine. It feels like an electric shock. I startle, but don't pull back. The fingers touch mine again, sliding along until we are clasping hands.

I stare. What do I do? When was the last time I held a hand? Too many decades ago to remember. Did Natasha and I ever hold hands? I doubt it. His thumb rubs the back of my hand and I stare.

"Why don't we go to Steve's house and talk more? Is that okay?" The girl is talking again. I nod. Whatever is happening right now, I don't have the heart to stop it. I don't have a heart. They took it out of me.

I feel my hand get pulled gently, and I follow along. Yes, walking. There is movement and speech whirling around me, but I stay grounded to one point: the hand holding mine.

* * *

Fun! Please review!


	10. Chapter 9

A/N: sorry this took so long. Vacation, and then starting a new job where not only are we busy all day, but have stuff at night. It's been intense. The semester starts soon, so new chaps may come slower as I adjust to all of my new responsibilities. Ugh.

This chapter was the first time I've been a little surprised by where the characters led me.

P.S. big reveal happening soon.

* * *

Steve pulls Viola and Bucky into his apartment quickly. He turns and locks the door, still clinging to his best friends' hand. He has reached panic as they've made their way through the city. There is too much to do. Make sure Bucky is safe. Forever. Fix everything.

Suddenly the locks on the door aren't even close to strong enough. Hydra likely still wants Bucky, and there is nothing Steve can do about it. He has to call Nat and Sam. He has to fix Bucky. Viola isn't safe here, with them, she's going to get hurt. His chest floods with heat. Or cold. Is he having an asthma attack? There is so much pressure on his heart, and now he feels like he's on the verge of tears. His throat swells closed and he is standing at the door with his phone in his hand, frozen because he doesn't know what the fuck to do to help his best friend in the entire world. There is no SHIELD, no one he trusts, just Steve.

A squeeze on his hand jolts him back to his body. He didn't realize how tightly he was clinging to Bucky, but obviously the man just squeezed back. What does that mean?

He looks up. Bucky looks like shit. If Steve thought that seeing him as the Winter Soldier was bad, this is a thousand times worse. His hair is longer still, brushing his collarbones, greasy, and matted. His face is gaunt, his cheekbones pushing too sharply at the skin underneath. The deep bruises under his eyes are an obvious testament to his lack of sleep.

The rest of his body is no better. Clothes hang loosely on his frame, but even still Steve can see how much weight Bucky has lost. How little muscle is left. His left arm hangs oddly from his shoulder, and Steve surmises that Bucky no longer has the muscle mass to support its weight.

Bucky's eyes stare seemingly at nothing. Then, quickly, they dart from Steve, to Viola, then to where their hands are still joined.

Steve's eyes turn to Viola, and he can't help showing her his panic and worry. His eyes water again as she meets his gaze with love, understanding, and a smile.

That's right. He's not alone. He exhales. Smiles back at his lover. It strikes him that meeting her might be the best thing to happen to him since he woke up.

Viola swings her arms in parody of nonchalance. "Okay, yay, everybody's here. You, my homeless comrade, need a bath like nobody's business." She smiles, leaning forward to catch Bucky's gaze. "I'd like to help you get clean. Do I have your permission to do that?" Her face is the picture of patience, kindness, understanding. And Steve knows that, to an extent, she does understand. He holds his breath waiting to see whether she will get a response.

The three of them stand in an odd triangle without talking for what seems like an eternity. Finally, Bucky nods once. Viola smiles at him before turning to Steve.

"Okay, then. Steve, why don't you call Sam and Nat and see if you can find some clothes for Bucky while we get clean?"

Steve is frozen. He doesn't want to let go of Bucky's hand, but he needs a moment to pull himself together. Most of all, he's worried about Viola. He pulls her close so he can whisper in her ear.

"I don't know about this. He could hurt you badly, by accident. I don't feel comfortable leaving the two of you alone together."

Viola nods. "I get that you're worried, but it's okay. He wouldn't even mean it, but he could lash out if he gets startled. I can take care of myself, and you'll be close. More importantly, he's not sure you're really here, and he seems more able to believe that I'm real. Take the time, pull yourself together, and hopefully by the time we're done he'll be a little more pulled together, too."

Kind brown eyes smile up at him. Steve is so fucking turned around right now, and he needs to process everything that is going on in his head right now. He presses his lips into a quick smile, rubbing his hand along the outside of her arm in thanks. He doesn't want to let go of Bucky's hand (ever again), but he gives it a squeeze before replacing his hand with Viola's.

"Okay, Buck. Viola will take good care of you, and if you need me I'll be right out here." Steve stands stiffly, needing to decompress but needing his friend not to see it. Bucky passively lets himself be led away.

Steve feels as if all of his nerves are on fire. He is crawling out of his skin and feels a sudden urge to scream. Instead he grits his teeth and makes the fastest phone call he has ever made ("Nat? It's Steve. We found Bucky. Pick up Sam and get here now.").

That done, he stands in his living room and flails around for something to ground himself. He talks to himself.

"Bucky is here. In my apartment. He's not dead and no one is trying to kill him..at least for now. He knows who I am. He didn't try to kill us."

He repeats these thoughts or variations of them until it sinks in. This is not even close to the worst case scenario. His breathing slows. This isn't even close to the worst case scenario. Things are going to be okay.

He walks silently to the bathroom door (Viola has wisely left it open), and peeks in. Bucky is sitting, naked and doll-like, in the bath. Viola sits in front of him, clothing soaked. She starts to wash his hair, and Steve sees Bucky's eyes close as she massages his scalp. He can see her whisper; after a moment of concentration, his super hearing picks up a song.

He hears Viola sing a slow, sweet song. She sings softly to Bucky, repeating the words as she gently rinses his hair. Looking up, she spies Steve and nods to him, signaling that everything is okay. He nods in return. Heads to the bedroom, pulls some clothes he thinks will fit Bucky, drops them off on the bathroom sink (Bucky doesn't even look up at the intrusion) makes his way back to the living room.

There's a knock at the door and Steve rushes to let Sam and Nat in. He locks the door behind them.

His friends stand in the entry, eyes on him. Nat looks as high strung as Steve feels.

"What's going on, man? Nat said you found Bucky? What the hell happened?" Sam questions.

Steve nods. "We found him, alright." He presses his hand to his face for a moment. "He was..." shakes his head. "He's the fucking homeless man Viola and I have been taking food to for weeks." He doesn't look up, doesn't want to see their faces. "I've been screwing around all summer and he's been right. There. And I finally showed her a picture of what he looks like now, and...that was that." He sighs. "I've been within feet of him more than once, and I never bothered to LOOK. But. He came with us. He seems to think I'm not real, but he's...cooperating. He knows who I am. That's all I've got." He still doesn't look up.

He hears Natasha's emotionless voice. "Where is he now?"

"In the bathroom. Viola's giving him a bath. I'm sure she could use your help."

He knows that the two of them are having a silent conversation, but he doesn't care. He hears Natasha walk away, and he relaxes enough to sit in a chair, head in his hands. He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

A beat later, Sam's hand squeezes his shoulder as his friend passes him to sit on the couch.

"Hey. Steve. Take a nice breath for me, okay?" Steve complies. "Great." He hears his friend blow out a sigh of his own.

"Okay. First things first, Bucky is here. Nothing else matters. You got Bucky back. He's here, he's okay for now, everything else we can handle. Right?"

Steve huffs a laugh. "That's the thing, Sam. All of my fuck ups aside, that's why I'm freaking out. What the hell do I do now?" As he speaks, he finally meets his friend's kind eyes, and feels the tears that have been threatening all evening break free.

"I have no idea what to do to help him, Sam. What if I fuck him up? Am I the wrong person to do this because I'm so emotionally involved? I just...I want (need, whispers his mind...need, need...) Bucky to be better. But I'm not sure that I'm the person to make that happen. And I don't know what to do." It hurts, a little, to meet his friend's eyes and bare himself. But he needs this. He needs these fears answered.

Sam chuckles. "Oh, Steve. We are all here to help you. Nobody's expecting you to fix the brainwashed ex assassin all by yourself." Steve's head snaps up; his eyes meet the other man's. "Either way, he's gonna need you. He needs a support system, you know that. And you're the best thing he could ever get. You know better than any of us what a lot of his triggers will be, and how to deal with them. Nat can take care of the stuff you don't know."

Sam is smiling earnestly. "Don't tell me you don't know what to do when you're the one who's been researching all of this for however long. Between the four of us, Bucky's gonna get taken care of. I can't guarantee he'll be okay, but we are as prepared as anyone can be for a situation like this."

After a moment, Steve nods. "You're right. God, you're right. Just...having him here, after so long...I guess it really messed with my mind." He breathes a little easier.

Sam cracks a grin. "Hey, this guy means a lot to you, it makes sense that he would put you on your ear a little. But there's one thing I think you might want to get out of the way now..."

Steve looks curiously as his friend. He nods for him to go on.

"I think the arm's gotta go, man. That thing was made by a bunch of fucking crazy people, god knows what it's got in it, or if it's tracking him or some shit...I really think you oughtta call your friend Tony and see what he can do."

"I agree." Viola's voice calls out from the doorway. She has changed into dry clothes, Steve sees as she makes her way toward the men. "You haven't seen him yet, Sam, but that arm is hanging funny. I'd guess that he's lost too much weight and muscle tone to be able to use it properly anyway. It's not gonna be fun, but you're actually right on this one, Sam."

Steve pulls her down to sit on his lap. He needs the contact right now. "Okay. I'll call Tony." He squeezes Viola tighter for a moment, not ready to let go.

"While we're talking next steps, I wanted to bring up some things." Steve gives his attention to Viola as she speaks. "We do need to know what he remembers, but...Steve, I want you to realize that, aside from that, it'd be better if you let him bring up the past first. It might be frustrating or painful for him if you ask him about things from your past. It will also reinforce the idea that you want him to be that person."

Steve nods, wanting to stop her there. She's right, of course. He'll have to tread carefully. He sighs again, more deeply.

"I think it's a good idea for us all to and figure out where he's at. Nat's feeding him now. I'll go call Tony, and we'll get started."

The food girl tells me to call her V. She bathes me gently, working through my hair with a brush. I remember being hosed down like an animal. This is different. I can feel her fingers running through my hair, and it makes me close my eyes. V is careful to let me see the open door no matter what she does. I will try hard not to hurt her.

There is someone else at the door. It is Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow. I let memories flood my head. When they are done I am unsure of whether she is here to kill me or not. V is trying to dry my body, but I make it hard for her, I am so tense. I need to be ready to fight.

But V smiles at Black Widow. Black Widow lets her lips turn up gently. I know enough of her body language to read that as a non threatening smile. Her body is purposely relaxed. Her face turns to me and she does her not smile again.

I take this to mean that she doesn't intend on killing me right now. I let V dress me.

V takes my face in her hands with care. "I need to go get dry. Natasha is here to help. She's going to get you some food. Is that plan okay with you?"

I run the odds. I can't fight past Steve if they do something, and she's not trying to hurt me. I nod. V smiles and touches my shoulder.

I follow Black Widow into the kitchen. She points to a stool. "Sit if you'd like while I cook." I sit. Her movements are slow. She lets me see everything she does as she cooks. I watch to be sure there are no poisons or drugs, but between her and Steve I would not get away if there were. She doesn't turn her back to me. That is for the best.

I eat. She watches me. We are silent. When I am through she directs me to the room with paintings on the walls. Some I recognize. One I do not.

Steve speaks. "Okay. Well, we're really happy you're here, and that you're ok. We all want to help you." He indicates the others one by one. "This is Viola, she brought you food. Then Natasha. Over here is Sam Wilson. Do you remember them?"

His blue eyes stare at me and I remember this look. It is hope. I nod. This makes him smile.

"Great. That's great. You're safe here." His eyes are filled with earnestness. "I know we fought before, but no one will hurt you while you're here. None of us. We hope that you won't hurt us, but we understand that you might accidentally. If you want to leave, you can, and I will help you in any way I am able." He hesitates for a moment. "I'd rather you stay with me, though. Whatever that looks like."

This doesn't seem to require a response from me. I stay still, looking unblinking at him. He is really here, in front of me. V told me in the bath that he had brought me food. I try to readjust to the idea that Steve is here, and he wants me. I can't leave it alone.

"What do you want from me?" Even to my own ears I sound wrong; not human, no emotion in my voice.

His face shows surprise for a moment, quickly covered by thoughtfulness. "I know what you're thinking." He says, a stern expression on his face that I know I have seen many times in the past, "but I'm not going to tell you how much I want my Bucky back, or anything like that. You are my Bucky, just the way you are. You've been changed, and so have I, and we can't go back to before everything. I don't want that." He pauses. "I want you to be happy, however that happens. I want you to be healthy and free from people trying to use you. I want you to figure out what you want to be like now. I want, very badly, to be there to help you through it." He exhales, then looks up at me with a small smile. "But I won't make you."

I try to think of what I should be saying right now. What would Bucky say? He would probably joke. No one in this room would buy that.

I turn my gaze away from Steve for a moment. Sam is quiet and still in his seat, observing but not participating. There may be more to him than I have seen, so I file him away for later. Natasha sits just as still, but I can instinctively see the thoughts running under the surface. She is doing her best to assess me and whatever I say. V smiles warmly when our eyes meet. Her gaze is firm and steady, and I do not have enough prior information to define her emotions.

I turn my eyes to the floor as I finally respond.

"Okay."

I look up in time to see Steve smile brilliantly. "Okay." He says back.

The best thing about the last day for Steve has been talking to Bucky. Okay, asking him questions and getting monosyllabic answers, but still.

The worst thing is that Bucky hasn't slept. He won't sleep. Steve can keep up with him for a few days, but he worries how they will solve this.

The most awkward thing is not knowing what to call him. They ask him what name he would like (Bucky? James? Something different?), but he simply shrugs.

The least awkward thing is Viola, there at Steve's side. Squeezing his hand in reassurance when he starts getting worried about the future. She feels like home.

Then Tony Stark shows up.

Thankfully, Bucky and Viola are in the kitchen when he arrives, so Steve quickly pulls Tony into the spare bedroom (now perfect for Bucky...if he would sleep), shushing him as they go.

"Hey!" The shorter man blusters as he pulls his arms out of Steve's grip. "What the hell? That's no way to treat the genius who flew down from New York to come to you on your top secret whatever mission or something, you know, don't mind me I'm just here because you begged me and all-"

He seems to intend to keep going, so Steve talks over him.

"Yes. Tony, glad you're here, thanks for flying down, now please be quiet." He puts on his best Captain voice. Seeing that the brunet is listening and as quiet as he can be, he continues. "I need your help, but I need you to just listen, ok?" This earns him a nod and an eye roll.

"Great. We really need expertise only you and Bruce can provide." He panders. Unashamedly. Then looks with his best Captain face into Tony's eyes, trying to impress upon him the seriousness of what he's saying.

Ten minutes later Steve has given Tony the breakdown of Bucky, the Winter Soldier, what's happening now, and his concerns about the cybernetic arm. Given the fact that there's no evidence the Winter Soldier was responsible for Howard and Maria Stark's deaths that detail is omitted. Tony has validated his concerns, letting him know there's potentially plenty of deadly traps or locators or self destructs in the thing.

"Just knowing Hydra and their MO, it's definitely gonna have to come off, Cap," the goateed man lectures, "and it's likely to hurt, so probably a good idea to put him out." He chews a handful of whatever snack is currently in his hand. "we can do it tonight if you want, Mr. Freeze."

Steve rolls his eyes at the dig, but a moment of panic rolls through him. "He's never gonna consent to being drugged. He probably won't even want the arm taken off. How am I going to convince him?" He is deeply entrenched in worry now.

Tony looks closely at him for a moment. Then he waves airily. "Don't worry about it, Oh Captain my Captain. Tony's here and he's got it all under control."

This doesn't reassure Steve in the least, but Tony refuses to plot with him, instead saying it will be taken care of. He starts by introducing Tony to the group. Natasha gives him a curt nod, then promptly leaves the room. Sam seems slightly starstruck. Tony eyes Viola up and down for a long moment before she laughs and whispers something in his ear. It makes Tony laugh and kiss her cheek.

It's not Steve's fault he can hear what she says. "Oh honey," she croons in the billionaire's ear, "it'd never work out between you and me. I don't like to top."

Steve is still trying to figure out what she means when Bucky slumps to the side. The super soldier makes to stand and help his friend, only to feel his own knees buckle. Viola's shocked face is the last thing he sees before things go black.

I awaken to a headache and a churning stomach. This isn't so unusual. Neither is the memory loss. I only notice something's really wrong when I go to sit up.

And almost end up on the floor. Because I overbalanced.

I don't want to see, but I still look.

They took my arm.

They took my fucking arm! They took my arm I swear to God I will kill someone they took my arm now I don't have any way of fighting back they took my arm I'm totally helpless and they fucking drugged me!

I hear someone screaming. Footsteps rush into the room, and I realize the person screaming is me.

* * *

As always, please read and review!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: so fucking sorry it's been so long! My new job is really, really insane. I love it, but I have no time for...anything. But I'm gonna keep trying to find some time to write!

Steve has Tony Stark pressed against a wall, hands fisted in his shirt. There is yelling the likes of which has not been seen since Loki invaded New York with an alien army. It is in no way helping Steve's massive headache, that's for sure.

Still, as soon as Steve hears Bucky's screams, he is rushing to the door of his second bedroom (completely ignoring Tony's protests as he is dumped unceremoniously onto the floor). He opens the door, reaching the side of the bed, almost grabbing onto Bucky before he thinks better of it.

"Bucky! Fuck, Bucky, I am so fucking sorry," he starts. The man in front of him has not stopped screaming at all. "I didn't mean for things to happen this way, I was worried about your arm so I called Tony in and they thought you'd never agree to it, and Natasha and he went behind my back and they drugged us. They drugged me so I wouldn't stop them from taking your arm without your permission. I just woke up and I could fucking kill Tony Stark right now, I am so goddamn sorry."

Somewhere in the middle of his ranting speech Bucky has stopped screaming. He sits up in his bed, silent, obviously listening, but his body is still and his eyes fixed on the bedspread, jaw clenched. Silence is good... right? Steve thinks it is better than screaming. But as he goes on apologizing, cursing his coworkers (he couldn't call them friends, not now), the silence deepens. Each word from Steve's mouth seems more trivial than the last.

Eventually Steve can't bring himself to go on apologizing any more. Instead he tries to get Bucky to look at him.

No luck. Damnit, he should never have called Tony in the first place. He takes his leave, reluctant to exit the room but understanding the glaring fact that Bucky wants nothing to do with him. Probably any of them. Steve wonders how hard it will be for his friend to balance without his arm, but in the end the wondering is futile, as he is sure Bucky would rather fall over than have Steve help him right now.

He exits his second bedroom ready to pick up right where he left off, slamming the idiot playboy billionaire philanthropist or whatever he was right against the wall. His fury is curtailed immediately, however, by the sight of Tony elbow deep (no pun intended) in Bucky's arm. As furious as he is with the man, he is desperate to be told that it was all worth it, and it looks like a verdict one way or the other is coming soon.

As he stands against the wall in his kitchen, arms crossed, furiously glaring at the completely oblivious engineer, Natasha slinks up beside him.

"Don't even start with me. I know he didn't think this whole stunt up on his own." He shakes his head. "In fact, I'd find it far more likely that this was all your idea, and he just tagged along for the ride." Steve sighs, purposely not making eye contact, which only reminds him of Bucky and how spectacularly pissed he is. "You know, you've done stuff before that's made me question my trust in you, but I never thought you'd be so cold." He is almost shaking with anger.

"Aren't you supposed to play all good cop with Bucky to gain his trust back? He'll never trust you now. More importantly, he'll never trust ME either."

He sulks silently for a moment longer. Finally he brings his gaze up to Natasha, and she raises an eyebrow, questioning silently whether it's her turn to speak. He gives her a sighing go-ahead hand wave, then re-crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

The redhead waits patiently until she has his full attention.

"Steve? Get over it." She says with no heat in her voice. He pushes off the wall ready to argue, but a serious glance from the woman in front of him makes him back down. He knows better than to cross Black Widow with that look on her face.

"I'm serious right now, Steve. Get the fuck over it, and I don't want to talk about this shit ever again. You're so busy worrying about not hurting the brainwashed assassin's feelings that you're ignoring massive safety threats. Hydra may be on the run, but they have years of planning and resources and control of a superstrong arm in a crazy man's body with who knows what shit inside of it. And you just bring him into your home, bring him in contact with not only your own stupid ass, but your very human girlfriend, and Sam, and me, and Tony...without a fucking thought about safety. Triggers buried in his brain. Whatever that arm might be capable of. You may have decided to take the goddamn high road with your best friend from the good old days, but I had to think about threats in the real world, where the rest of us live."

The whole time she speaks she maintains the same stony exterior as always, eyes unflinchingly meeting Steve's. Her words are calm and firm. Once he knows she is done Steve takes a moment, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He tries to distance himself from things for long enough to calm down.

"I guess I should thank you, Widow, for thinking of the big picture. It's true that I didn't think as carefully as I should have about all of the potential scenarios once I got him back. I know him, and I really do believe that his conditioning has broken down, but I can't prove it. I suppose that's what matters."

His eyes meet hers, and he tries to let the truth of his perspective show. He has never felt more like Captain America.

"Whatever the potential risks, I still don't believe you should have used subterfuge to take Bucky's arm away against his will. I know that makes me a bad spy, and I don't mind that one bit. We could have talked to him. You got what you wanted, but you lost my trust. Now get out of my house." He turns away, calmly striding through his apartment until he finds Viola, elbow deep in some goo that he thinks might turn out to be soap. He slides his arms around her waist, pulling himself close to her and breathing in her scent. It comforts him more than he thought it would.

Viola and Sam have been standing well back from the drama. Now the woman tugs slips her hand into Steve's, and tugs him into his bedroom. She silently pulls him into another hug, and he buries his face in her hair, letting her be his comfort.

She nudges his face with her jaw until their lips meet. They kiss languidly for a moment, and then with more heat as Steve starts to let some of the events of the day sink into his bones. Before he knows it he is throwing her onto the bed, following her over so he can pull her clothes off without any pause. He kisses down her body, pulling cries from her with each nip and suck and lick and pinch.

Then he is thrusting into her hard, harder than he thought he could go, and her back is

arching under him, skin shining with sweat, and her cries echo in his ears as they both come again and again and again.

When Steve comes out into the kitchen again he is still massively worried about Bucky, there's no way around it. Still, he understands why Tony and Natasha thought that drugging Bucky was the only way they were going to get the arm off. He tries to focus on the understanding, instead of on the idiocy. It sort of works.

He comes upon Stark, stripped down to a wife beater, hands black with grease, hair a wild mess. His face (although also sporting some greasy smudges), is no longer buried in the remnants of the arm on the table, so Steve assumes that there's a verdict to be had. He quirks an eyebrow at the man in front of him.

Tony stretches, stands, heads to the fridge, and starts pulling things out. Steve huffs, and decides to let things lie. As long as he gets answers.

As if hearing his thoughts, Tony starts talking. With food in his mouth.

"OK, Cap, lemme give you the breakdown here."

A moment later, when Tony has swallowed, he continues.

"I know what you really wanna hear, and because I'm a genius, I can tell you it's true. Or at least, true to some extent." The wave of relief rushing through Steve is so potent that it takes him a minute to realize that Tony has started talking again.

"I mean, I looked for a remote detonation on some of the shit that's in there, and….. there wasn't one. So, you know, yay for Hydra not being able to remote detonate Bucky's arm." He pauses for a moment, mouth disgustingly full of food. Steve looks away until he swallows. "Well, that's not exactly true. More that the remote detonation was mangled, so in all likelihood Bucky was with it enough to realize that he needed to take that shit out, and he did. A bad job, but passable for a non-genius non-engineer."

Steve rolls his eyes and represses the urge to shake Tony until the story comes out, commentary-free.

"So. No remote detonation, now. And I've gotta say, I'm glad, because…. some of the shit that's in that arm…" Stark makes crazy windmilling motions with his hands that Steve assumes illustrate his point. "There is some seriously crazy shit in that arm. I cannot fucking wait to start making your insane friend a new one, because I can make one with all the awesome shit, just even better. Obviously, since I'm the one making it."

Steve can't stand it any more. "Jesus Christ, Tony, would you get the fuck on with it already, and tell me straight out what you found?"

Tony is the one rolling his eyes now. "Yeah, Steve, like that's gonna happen." He pauses. "Hey, man you're the one holding the whole thing up by interrupting."

When Steve glares at him, he shrugs his shoulders. "Just saying."

"Anyway," he continues, "yes. There's that whole thing. But then there's the big stuff, which really isn't very exciting in terms of tech, but JARVIS is awesome and can analyze anything. So pretty much, crazy screaming guy in there was getting some pretty heavy doses of all sorts of psychotropic drugs."

Steve inhales sharply. That might be worth the insanity they just went through.

"It's like the story about the Italian woman, who poisons her husband's food every morning, and then gives him the antidote every night." When Steve just looks at him blankly, the other man elaborates. "If he doesn't come home, he has a really bad night. Get it"

Aha. "How does that relate to Bucky?"

"Pretty much, the arm had a hidden well of the drugs, and it releases small amounts over time. So the first couple of days he's on a mission, he's fine, and he's still got all of the stuff they pumped into him during the brainwashing or whatever. But if he doesn't come back in, he gets more doses over time, and the drugs start kicking in and making everything all sorts of fucked up. That means that if he didn't come in when he was supposed to, he'd be pretty useless, and I'm guessing that he'd be pretty easy to find for the most part."

Steve nods in understanding, now. "So those drugs might make him just sit in an abandoned building and not really move for weeks."

Tony shoots a finger-gun at him. "You got it, Cap. Fucked up drugs, easy to catch brainwashed assassin."

Steve heads towards Viola, wanting to share the news. As an afterthought, he calls over his shoulder. "Still not forgiving you for being an asshole."

"Still not apologizing for being an asshole." He hears in return.

The next few days pass in relative misery.

Tony Stark almost immediately returns to New York, taking all of the parts of Bucky's arm with him, and proclaiming that he would be making something "so much more amazing than this pathetic bunch of scraps that you'll all weep in awe."

Natasha slinks around Steve's apartment, not all that much differently than she normally does, which gives Steve a small insight into her psyche. He angrily (and maybe a little unfairly) rants to Viola about how if she cares enough to continue to check on Bucky, then she shouldn't have fucked with him, and Viola kicks his ass. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Think about it," she says to Steve, eyebrow raised at his petulance. "Nat had something pretty special with him once upon a time. I don't imagine that she's had a lot of good things going in her life, and he was one of them."

Steve nods, but still doesn't get her point. She sighs good naturedly, rolling her eyes.

"Duh, Steve. She's not getting her friend back, and she knows that. He didn't know her as the Winter Soldier, so that's gone forever. And if he is remembering things, he's remembering _you, _and being Bucky. Any connection he had with her is getting pushed way into the background when it's compared with you. You might really get Bucky back, but Nat isn't getting anyone back. And she cares about him, but she doesn't want to be hurt when he doesn't remember her at all. Get it, dummy?"

He does. He really does. So, in the name of putting angst and traumatic experiences behind them, he casually asks her if she wants to spar. They don't speak of it (they probably won't ever), and they probably aren't okay, but they aren't fighting anymore either.

Sam focuses on Bucky. He puts all of his knowledge of angry amputee vets to use and gives it his best shot, several times over. It's hard to tell if anything's working, because Bucky still won't talk to anyone; he eats when no one is looking, and refuses to allow anyone to help him as he struggles with one arm; Sam says all of this is normal.

Bruce calls a day or so after the incident, Tony having sent him JARVIS' analysis of whatever crap the arm was injecting into Bucky. He tells Steve that it will take some time to work out of his system. He can't estimate much more closely than that it will be a few weeks, he says, because of the whole Supersoldier serum knockoff/ frozen for long periods of time/ no normal bloodwork problem. Steve knows that there's no way they're going to get anywhere near him now to get a blood sample, so he thanks Bruce and leaves it alone, knowing that some estimate is better than nothing.

Bucky still won't talk to Steve, and it's heartbreaking to have him so close and still not there. He leans on Viola for comfort and support, and their lovemaking takes on a different tone than in the weeks before everything happened. He looks forward to getting to curl around her as they sleep, skin touching skin, and sinking deep into oblivion. She helps him keep perspective, reminds him that this was never going to be an easy road, that Bucky is worth every bit of disappointment and frustration (and he is, he really is).

It's hard, all the same. Steve doesn't let that stop him from going to see Bucky, from offering his help, from telling him some of the things that happened after they lost each other. Steve talks, and Bucky sits, stiff and still, eyes firmly away from wherever the other man is. He doesn't react, doesn't talk, and it makes Steve feel like a fool to stand in front of his best friend, pouring his heart out, but he does it anyway.

He does it anyway, because Bucky is worth it.

Every time I forget, it comes back and hits me. They took my arm.

They took the last thing that would keep me from being completely at their mercy.

I can't fucking stand it.

Steve is so sorry, so very sorry, but he doesn't give it back. He wanted it gone, too. Because I'm dangerous, a threat to be neutralized.

I half expect that, now that they've made me helpless, they'll just put me in a room somewhere and forget about me. Put me back on ice.

The idiot with the wings comes in, and he tells me that it's okay to be angry, like I don't fucking know that already. He talks and talks about how I should talk more, but that's not likely to happen any time this century. Men don't cry and share their feelings over tea. Soldiers deal with the hand they've been given and don't complain. I exist. I don't talk about it.

I guess this is what people are like now.

Nat doesn't come in. I know from listening to Steve, and V, and Sam that she helped the other guy take my arm. She must know how furious I am at her, because she slinks around corners, looking into the room but never actually entering, never actually speaking. I have years of memories of her in my head, but I can tell that the person I watch from the corners of my eyes has changed. Good. We both have.

Steve…..

Well. Steve.

He comes to visit me constantly. And he tells me everything, fills me in on everything I missed since I fell off that bridge. He doesn't leave out a detail, either; he tells me exactly how terrified he was when the plane went down, how messed up he was when they woke him up. He talks about all of it, about New York, about SHIELD and Hydra, even V.

I listen, but I take care not to let it show.

I don't know how I can trust him, and I don't really even know what's going on in my own head anymore, thoughts jumbled around, different years and different lives all intersecting. I think that I need to make a timeline, but I'd have to talk to someone to do that, and I'm not planning on giving in any time soon.

Fuck all of them. I'm not weak, and I won't be weak. I won't let them treat me like I'm damaged.

I know I'm damaged.

I don't know what's going on in my own head, but I'm not going to let them treat me like a doll.

And Steve…. Steve has people now, he has a life and a girl and friends. He has the life he should have had before the war. He doesn't need me now, that's for sure. He stopped needing me to take care of him when he became Captain America, and now he doesn't need me at all. Not as a sharpshooter, not as his best friend (because he's been getting along just fine without me, hasn't he?), not as anything.

I keep wondering when the other shoe will drop.

Then there's V. Yesterday she barged into my room, squatted right in front of my face, and pressed a razor into my hand. Well, I figured out that it was a razor afterwards, when she said "Bucky, I understand that you don't trust any of us enough right now to let us shave you, not with a blade that close to your throat. But you look fucking gross, and I can't stand it anymore. This is an electric razor. You can't keep it. But I will watch you while you shave the mangled cat off your face, or I swear to God I will hold you down and do it myself. Don't think I can't take you."

I ignored her viciously for about ten minutes, and then she started coming at me like she was really going to hold me down, and I gave in. She doesn't make me panic, but I don't think I can stand being held down, ever again. And…. I guess I don't really want her to get hurt, either. So I shaved myself, badly, with the electric razor. It makes my face feel lighter, more sensitive. I get distracted by the feel of the sheets against my face when I lay my head on my pillow.

I still don't sleep much. Or eat much. I don't like moving around when I can't balance, don't like letting them see me fall on my ass. In the middle of the night I wake up and let myself fall out of bed, walk to the kitchen, pick some fruit or something I can eat with only one hand.

It's hard to talk, in a way it wasn't when they found me...wherever I was. Then I thought I was hallucinating. Or in hell. Now everything is too real, too bright and sharp and wrong.

Because it's wrong that, after so fucking long, Steve would find me and I'd be living with him but not be talking (not that he doesn't deserve it, the bastard). It's too fucking wrong that I'm all broken, that Steve is shiny and perfect and strong and I am the broken one, I am the weak one, I can't get by on my own. I fucked everything up.

I can imagine it now, how it should have been. I should have recognized Steve when I first saw him, instead of trying to kill him. I should have helped him take Hydra down and we would have been whole and together and normal.

But instead I'm just this. And now that they took my arm and smashed it into a million bits, I can't even fucking get out of bed without falling down. My body is so weak, my mind flooded with a million memories I can't place, and I don't know how to be. Or who to be. I can't be Bucky anymore, can't be the lover Natasha wants, can't be the Soldier.

Three days later, V comes barging into my room like usual. She closes the door carefully behind her, comes over to the bed and sits facing me, trying to catch me eyes.

"You need to get the fuck over yourself." She says, oddly with a complete lack of inflection or heat.

I just glare in her general direction.

"Seriously. It's killing Steve, and I can tell you're miserable, and you need to just accept that something shitty happened, and get the fuck over it."

Yeah. Right. I snort.

And then almost jump out of my skin when V grabs me by both shoulders and shakes a little.

"No. No more." She spits out. "You're fucking lucky that Steve is still around. You don't know how hard it is to lose the person you love most in the world."

I huff again. Yeah fucking right. I'm nobody's most important person.

It seems to piss her off even more. "I swear to fucking god, you're gonna listen, and you're gonna listen good. You're not going to say a fucking thing until I'm done. And you're gonna respect me enough to look at me while I'm spilling my most painful secrets out to you."

Well. That certainly makes me look her way.

When she's satisfied that she really does have my attention, she nods. And sighs.

"Okay. Suffice it to say, I was not a particularly happy teenager. I didn't get along with my parents, but not many people do when they're that age. I was happy to go away to college, because I wanted to get away from them. Of course, they had all the money, so they still managed to control me when I was in college, and I got a little wild. I ended up barely twenty years old, pregnant."

She has my attention now. I want to know where her kid is more than I want to prove to her she's wrong about Steve and me.

She's still looking me right in the eyes, unguarded, showing me everything she's feeling. I see how hard it is for her to find words, and I sit frozen, not knowing how to receive the gift she's given me by letting me see her so vulnerable.

"When I got pregnant my parents wanted me to get an abortion. But from the moment I knew about it, I loved that baby. I wanted to hold him with every fiber of my being. I just….knew that having him would be the right thing for me. So I told my parents that, and they kicked me out." She smiles ruefully.

"Honestly, I had no idea how to support myself, or how to live in the big, bad world without anybody to help. But I did. I got a job, and an apartment, worked like crazy and grew a baby in my belly. And loved him.

Long story short, I birthed my baby boy into my hands, seven years and a few months ago. And I love him so very much, so much more than you could ever know."

She looks at me still, her gaze piercing. I can't look away, but I can't bear to see the emotions she's showing me. I squirm, but she holds me steady still, holds my eyes with hers. Suddenly I don't want to hear what she has to say anymore.

"But, of course, as soon as he was born I knew something was wrong. And I was right. We spent days in the hospital, and they did a million tests, and finally they told me what was wrong."

Her eyes turn pondering for a minute. "I'm pretty sure you don't know much about genetics, between being born in like 1918 and being a brainwashed russian assassin. But he had a genetic disease called Edward's syndrome. He was born with things wrong, that couldn't be fixed. Most babies that have it die before they're born, but not Toby. Instead, he looks at me with these beautiful dark blue eyes. Wraps his hand around my fingers. Cuddles against my chest and falls asleep. And they tell me that he's going to die. That, _if I'm lucky_, he'll live until he's one."

She shakes her head. Her voice is starting to crack, her eyes filling with tears that she lets spill down her cheeks. "Can you imagine loving the most perfect little creature in the world, and knowing that he's going to die? I couldn't, really. It was too much. Too fucking unfair, to have finally found this perfect person, who I loved more than anything in the entire world, who changed my whole life, who made everything matter more, and then be told that he was going to die.

"So I stayed home with him. Worked jobs where I could take him along, like babysitting. Saved all the money I could, because he was sick a lot, and I wanted to stay home and take care of him. Spend every single second of his life with him. And I did. I was with him through every illness, every surgery. Through him growing, and learning to roll over, and sit up, and crawl, eating his first foods, playing with toys.

"And then he got sicker, and when he was about a year and a half, he got really sick. And I held him in my hands when he died. I held him in my arms, and told him I loved him, and let him go. Buried my infant son.

"So, you see, I know all about what it's like to lose the person you love most in the entire world."

I can't look. V won't let me look away, but I can't bear to see her face. Can't bear to listen. As if she knows that I want to get away, she shakes me gently.

"You're Steve's person. The person Steve loves most in the entire world. And he lost you. Do you know how fucking lucky you are that you get a second chance? No matter how horrible the circumstances that brought it about, you've got more time with your person. And you're fucking wasting it being mad at him." Her voice raises at the end, her grip tightening.

I think I'm supposed to say something, but I don't know what to say. I don't think I'm the person Steve loves most in the world…. it was more that, back then, we had nobody else. "What about you?"

She quirks a brow at me. "What about me?"

"His person that he loves more than anyone else in the world." I whisper.

For some reason this makes her laugh. "Steve is the most special person I have ever met, barring Toby. He is a truly amazing person. And I would love to be his person, but I'm not. You are- you always have been, and if you take your head out of your ass, you always will be."

…

For some reason I feel surprised. I had never thought of myself as so important to Steve, but now that she brings up the possibility, I find it's something I desperately want. To always and forever know that I am the most important person to Steve. A man who is by far the best man I have and will ever meet. And the thought of losing that terrifies me.

"What do I do?" I ask.

V smiles. "You don't have to do anything big. Just talk to him. Be mad at him, if you need to, but talk to him. Look at him. That's enough."

I am flooded with memories of Steve, over the years. Looking at Steve, when we were kids, then when he was little, and sick, then when he was Captain America. Talking. Pulling bullies off of him before they smashed his skull in.

Talking? I might just be able to manage.

"Okay."


End file.
